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THE 


Um OF LLEWELLYN. 

f 

I 

BY 




MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 


AUTHOR OF “the FATAL MARRIAGE,” “RETRIBUTION,” “THE DESERTED WIFE,” 
‘‘lost HEIRESSj^ “discarded/ daughter/’ “wife's VICTORY,” “VIVIA,” 

“lady of the isle.P “haunted homestead,” “mother-in-law,” 

“the two sisters,’’ “three beauties,” “curse of CLIFTON,” 

“the gip.sy’s prophecy,” “love’s labor won,” 

“the missing bride,” “the BRIDAL EVE,” 

“FORTUNE seeker,” “ALLWORTH ABBEY,” ETC. 


’Tis a tale of tears and sins. 

Of love’s glory and its gloom. 

In an old hall, it begins. 

And it ends 

Owen Meredith. 



}31)tla^^lpl)ta. 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in theyeax 1866, by 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in 'and for the Eastern 

District of Pennsylvania. 



TO 

MKS. ROBERT BOEINER, 

OF^ NEW YORK, 

THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED, 

AS A 

TRIBUTE OP ESTEEM AND AFFECTION, 
FROM HER FRIEND, 

THE AUTHOR. 

Prospect Cottage, December, 186G. 







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‘CONTENTS. 

— — 

CHAPTER I. PAGE 

THE TRAITRESS, -25 

CHAPTER II. 

THE TREASON, . 43 

CHAPTER HI. 

ARTHUR AND MRS. LLEWELLYN FACE TO FACE, ... 56 

CHAPTER lY. 

THE ELOPEMENT, 71 

CHAPTER Y. 

THE FLIGHT OF GLADYS, 84 

CHAPTER YI. 

THE MARRIAGE, ' . . . 96 

CHAPTER YII. 

THE MARRIAGE BREAKFAST, 106 

CHAPTER YIII. 

PURSUIT, 115 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE BRIEF HONEYMOON, 121 

CHAPTER X. 

THE SWOOP OP THE VULTURE, 132 

CHAPTER XL 

THE PREY, "... 144 

( 21 ) 


22 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

OMINOUS, 

XII. 



PAGE 

. 155 

CHAPTER 

THE FELL WATCH, .... 

XIII. 



. 165 

CHAPTER 

ON THE ROAD TO RUIN, 

XIY. 

. . 

• 

. t 

. 181 

CHAPTER 

THE VULTURE AND THE DOVE, 

XY. 

. . 

. 

• 

. 190 

CHAPTER 

A FEARFUL DISCOVERY, . 

XYI. 



. 200 

CHAPTER 

ENSNARED, 

XYII. 



. 207 

CHAPTER 

IN THE vulture’s TALONS, 

XYIII. 

• « 

• 

. 

. 216 

CHAPTER 

THE PALSIED HEART, 

XIX. 



. 226 

CHAPTER 

A HORRIBLE REVELATION 

XX. 

• • 

. 

. 

. 236 

CHAPTER 

GUILE FOR GUILE, .... 

XXI. 



. 249 

CHAPTER 

THE FOILER FOILED, 

XXII. 



. 259 

CHAPTER 

THE MARRIAGE SCENE, 

XXIII. 

• • 

• 

• 

. 267 

CHAPTER 

V 

RELENTLESS PERSECUTION, 

XXIY. 

• « 

• 

• 

. 276 

CHAPTER 

THE OLD HOUSE IN THE WOOD, 

XXY. 

. . 

• 

. 

. 288 

CHAPTER 

STARTLING APPARITION, . 

XXYI. 

. . 

• 

• 

. 295 

CHAPTER 

THE CAPTIVE MOTHER, 

XXYII. 

. . 

• 

• 

305 


CONTENTS. 

> 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A SHOCK, 


• 

• 

23 

PAGE 

317 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A ROUT, ....... 


. 

« 

325 

CHAPTER XXX. 

ANGER, 



' 

329 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

RESOLUTION, 



. 

334 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

MR. STUKELY ASSERTS HIMSELF, 

. 

• 

• 

344 

CHAPTER XXXIIl. 

AN HUMBLE FRIEND AT NEED, 

. 

. 

. 

351 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE ESCAPE OF GLADYS, .... 

• 

. 

. 

361 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE fugitive’s SHELTER, .... 

. 

• 

. 

367 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

FREEDOM AND HOFE, . . . . 

. 

. 

. 

375 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

ENTRAPPED, 


• 

• 

383 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE HOD-BEARER, 

. 

. 

• 

391 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE DEAD ALIVE, 



. 

401 

CHAPTER XL. 

THE MYSTERY OF A LOST IDENTITY, 

• 

• 

. 

409 

CHAPTER XLI. 

LOST LINKS IN A LIFE, . 

• 

• 

. 

423 

CHAPTER XLII. 

A NEW COMER, 

• 

• 

• 

431 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

A NIGHT OF ALARM, ..... 

. 

• 

. 

440 


A NIGHT OF ALARM, 


21 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE NEXT morning’s NEWS, .... 


• 

PAGP 

. 454 

CHAPTER XLY. 

A RIDE IN SEARCH OF A LOST LOVE, 

• 

• 

. 464 

CHAPTER XLYI. 

THE RIDE ENDED, 

• 


. 479 

CHAPTER XLYII. 

UTTER DESPAIR, 



. 486 

CHAPTER XLVIIL 

A PROPER TOOL FOR VILLAINY, 

• 

• 

. 492 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

THE FORTUNATE THIRD TRIAL, 

• 

• 

. 501 

CHAPTER L. 

VENGEANCE, 



. 506 

CHAPTER LI. 

PERFECT PEACE, 



. 516 

CHAPTER LIL 

MAGNANIMITY, 



. 527 


PRESENTS, 


CHAPTER LIII. 


535 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


CHAPTER 1. 

THE TRAITRESS. 

All treachery could devise was wrought 
Against them — letters robbed and read ; 

Snares hid in smiles ; betrayal bought, 

And lies imputed to the dead.— Owen Meredith, 

Occasionally, once in a century or so, there appears in 
this world a being in the human female form of whom it 
may be said, that if we did not know her to be a woman, 
we should believe her to be a devil. 

The records of historical biography have shown us a 
Lucretia Borgia, a Catherine di Medici, and a Countess of 
Essex. And the records of criminal jurisdiction have 
exposed to us a Brinvilliers, and a Lafarge, and Schon- 
leben. 

If it were not for the records of history and jurisdiction, 
we should not believe that such monsters could exist in 
this world of ours. 

I have purposely alluded to these evil notorities to pre- 
pare the minds of my readers to contemplate, without in- 
credulity, a woman as subtile, as cruel, and as remorseless 
as the worst of those that I have named. 

And this is her story. 

General Griffith Llewellyn was a Virginian gentleman of 
Welsh extraction, and of high rank, great wealth, and wide 
fame ; he lived in a stately mansion, owned broad planta- 

( 25 ) 


26 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


tions, and ruled over many negroes. He had won immortal 
glory in the wars of his country, and had retired from the 
service late in life, and married an old sweetheart, and 
settled down upon his beautiful country-seat, “ Kader 
Idris” (which was named after a famous place in his ances- 
tral country), and situated in one of the most mountainous 
counties in Virginia, there to enjoy domestic happiness in 
the “ bosom of his family,” and to repose upon his laurels.” 

Only one child blesssd this late union — Gladys, “ sole 
daughter of his house.” They gave her this name because 
she was the delight of their lives. And they loved her with 
an idolatry that only old parents can bestow on the child 
of their age. Bright, buoyant, beautiful, she seemed to bring 
sunshine, summer, and joyousness, wherever she came. 

Gladys had one occasional companion — Arthur Powis, 
the son of one of General Llewellyn’s brother officers who 
was slain in battle, and who, with his dying breath, confided 
the orphan boy to his chosen bosom friend. 

General Llewellyn proved faithful to the trust. He took 
Arthur to his own home ; bade his wife receive the boy as 
a son ; and bade his baby daughter love the lad as a brother. 
When Arthur was about fourteen years of age the Gen- 
eral’s influence procured the youth an appointment as a 
midshipman at the Naval Academy of Annapolis — from 
which he had the privilege of returning twice a year, at 
midsummer and at Christmas, to spend his holida3^s at 
Kader Idris. 

Now who can tell when or how love first springs up be- 
tween a youth and a maiden? No one. Not even either 
of the young creatures themselves. 

At first Arthur’s pleasure in going down to Kader Idris 
at midsummer and at Chnistmas, was simply that of the 
school-boy returning home for the holidaj^s. And the de- 
lights that he anticipated were only those of country free- 
dom and rural sports — in summer, boating, fishing, riding, 
etcetera; in winter, hunting, skating, sleighing, and-so- 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


27 


forth ; and, at all seasons, gormandizing, which is a natural 
and excusable passion in a healthy, growing boy, who has 
a good deal of flesh and bone to make before he can become 
a strong, athletic man. And esiDeciall}^ is it so in a boy 
coming from the short commons of a public school to the 
lavish abundance of a planter’s house. And so, at first, 
all Arthur’s enjoyment of his visits to Kader Idris was 
“of the earth, earthy.” And so gradual was the change 
that came over his nature, that he did not know exactly 
when it was that all his anticipations of pleasure in holi- 
days spent in the country concentrated in the one prospect 
of meeting Gladys. 

And as for Gladys ? 

Why similarly, at first, all her pleasure in looking forward 
to the coming of her boy-friend, was simply that of a soli- 
tary child expecting the arrival of a irlayful companion. 
And all the delight she anticipated in his visits was that 
of sharing with him her mountain-home and rustic pas- 
times, and taking part with him in the larger liberty and 
rougher sports of his boyhood — in the summer’s boating, 
fishing, and riding, and in the winter’s hunting, skating, 
and sleighing. And with her, also, the change that stole 
over her heart came so slowly and gently, that she never 
knew when or how it was that all her imaginations of hap- 
piness in holiday times brightened into the one heavenly 
vision of meeting Arthur. 

It was thus that their spirits moved simultaneously and 
in unison ; and before they knew it they were one in heart 
and mind. 

The discovery was made in this way : 

When the girl was fifteen years of age and the youth was 
eighteen, he was appointed fourth midshipman on the 
United States sloop-of-war Neptune, which was under 
orders to sail for the Pacific on a three years’ cruise. 

Before going to Portsmouth to join his ship, he came 
down to Kader Idris to take leave of his friends. 


28 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Three years to these young creatures seemed like three 
eternities, of which of course the first one could never end. 
In their despair at the thought of separation their love re- 
vealed itself. And so, when Arthur had raved and vowed 
and protested like Romeo, and Gladys had wept and 
blushed and promised like Juliet, he jumped up and ruslied 
away to her father in the library, and standing before him 
flushed, trembling, but resolute, he saluted him as he would 
have done his captain on the quarter-deck and said : 

“If you please, sir, I love Gladys dearly.” 

“ It would be odd if you didn’t, after all these years of 
companionship, especially as everybody loves Gladys ; but 
why take the trouble to come and tell me this ?” said the 
old gentleman, without looking up from his newspaper. 

' “ Because, if you please, sir, Gladys loves me — a little 

— also,” said the boy, modestly. 

“All right ; I told her to love you ; we all love you, my 
lad ; but why come to me about it now ?” 

“ Because, sir, if you please — we wish to — get married.” 

“To do — WHAT?” thundered the old gentleman, drop- 
ping his newspaper and staring at the youth. “ WJiat is it 
you want to do ?” 

“To get married, if you please, sir,” answered Arthur, 
flushing deeply. 

“Whe-ew!” cried the general, rolling up his eyes in 
astonishment, and then bursting into a loud laugh of de- 
rision. “ Wh-ew ! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha ! Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho I 
When would you like to get married, pray ? Next week ? 
to-morrow ? to-day ? this minute ?” he demanded, to the 
great confusion of the poor young suitor. 

Arthur, though very much abashed by this ridicule of 
his pretensions, was withal so conscious of the depth and 
strength of his love for the beautiful Gladys, that he 
plucked up a manly little spirit of his own, and answered 
firmly, though respectfully : 

“Yes, sir, if you please, next week, to-morrow, to-day, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


29 


this minute, or as soon as Gladys will consent and you ap- 
rove !” 

“ Humph I” said the old gentleman, staring at the youth ; 
“it is easy to see that if you do not illustrate American 
history by brilliant naval achievements, it will not be for 
the want of self-confidence — I might say self-conceit.” 

“ I do hope that I am not conceited, sir. I know that I 
am not worthy of the great boon I ask you to bestow on 
me ; but I shall strive to become so,” said t!ie youth, 
earnestly. ' 

“Bosh! you little midge. You are nothing but a baby. 
You talk of marriage ! Bosh ! I say. Go, spin your top I 
Go, fiy your kite I Go, pitch marbles I” exclaimed the old 
gentleman, with growing impatience. 

“Sir,” modestly suggested the “baby,” “I am in my 
nineteenth year, and I am an officer in the United States 
Navy.” 

“ Bosh ! I tell you. Nineteen and a middy I Why, sir, 
I was fifty and a major-general before I even thought of 
marriage I” growled the old man. 

The youth turned pale. His look of consternation was 
almost ludicrous. The idea of waiting until he should be 
fifty years old and a commodore, and marrying at that 
fossil age, was simply appalling. However, he managed to 
control himself, and to answer, with tolerable calmness : 

“ Sir, I am willing to wait any reasonable length of time, 
with the hope of having Gladys at the end of my probation. 
So, if you would but sanction our engagement, we should 
be satisfied. Will you do this ?” 

“ No, sir, no — assuredly not ! There are objections more 
insurmountable than those of your extreme j^outh and 
subordinate rank.” 

“ If you please, sir, what objections ?” faltered the poor 
lover. 

“Inequality, my lad, for one.” 

“Inequality, sir?” repeated the youth, fiushing. 


30 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“Inequality, sir,’' reiterated the old gentleman, with 
emphasis. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir ; but will you be good enough 
to tell me in what this great inequality is supposed to con- 
sist ? Certainly not in age, or in station, or in personal 
attributes.” 

“ Nor in folly, nor in vanity, nor in heedlessness ! In all 
these things you are about equal, I should judge by the 
present proceedings. But you are unequal in point of for- 
tune ! Gladys Llewellyn is the heiress of millions — you, 
of nothing !” said the general, bluntly. 

“ I am sorry for that, sir ; but it is not my fault ; and I 
know if she had nothing, and I had millions, I would 
gladly give them all to her,” replied the boy, naively. 

“ Yes — but you see 3'^ou have not got them, and she has. 
You have nothing but your middy’s pay,” growled the 
old man. 

“ I have my prospects of promotion, sir,” replied the 
youth. 

“ Oh ! prospects of promotion. Prospects of a pot of 
gold at the end of the rainbow I Prospects of a soap- 
bubble ! You’ll be gray before 3^011 are a lieutenant ; bald 
before 3^011 are a commander, and decrepid before 3'ou are 
a captain!” 

“Not if there should be a war with England, sir. There 
would be .very rapid promotion in that case.” 

“ Here’s a pretty cut-throat villain 1 Willing that there 
should be war between two great nations, and millions of 
lives sacrificed, that he may be the more rapidly promoted, 
and marry his sweetheart the sooner.” 

“ I am sure I did not say any thing like that, sir 1 ” ex- 
claimed the astonished boy. 

“ I am sure you did I And I am sure that the man who 
set his neighbor’s house on fire that he himself might roast his 
own eggs, was an angel of fair dealing compared to you.” 

“ Indeed, sir ” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


81 


“Stuff I nonsense I balderdash! Let me hear no more 
of this folly. I was your father’s friend, Arthur ; and for 
his sake I wish to be yours ; but let me never hear any 
more of your pretensions to the hand of Gladys ! I am 
willing that you should consider her as a little sister, and 
in no other character, toward yourself; for in no other re- 
lation can she stand to you.” 

“ But— under other circumstances, sir?” pleaded the 
distressed boy. 

“ Under no other circumstances whatever I So never let 
me hear of this again.” 

“Never! sir?” 

“ Never, Arthur ! Now leave me.” 

With the deepest sigh, the disappointed youth turned 
and went out of the room, to report his failure to Gladys. 

And the old gentleman took up his newspaper, and set- 
tled himself in his arm-chair, saying, triumphantly : 

“ Well, I fancy I have put a pretty effectual stop to that 
folly ! Marry Gladys, indeed ! The fellow is mad ! I 
would see him at the deuce before he should do it — as well 
as I loved his father.” 

So far, so well. But General Llewellyn, unfortunately 
for his consistency, arrived at this conclusion without the 
help of two of his able counsellors, namely, Gladys and her 
mother. Gladys, who would not have Arthur’s heart broken 
at any price ; and her mother, who would not have Gladys 
crossed. 

Even while the general sat congratulating himself on his 
firmness in having exercised his authority, the rebellion 
against that authority was on foot. 

Arthur went immediately from the presence of General 
Llewellyn to that of Gladys. 

Throwing himself down on the sofa beside her, with a 
look of despair, he exclaimed : 

“Oh, Gladys! Gladys! it is all over. Your father re- 
fuses his consent to our engagement, and forbids me even 


32 


THE. BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN, 


to hope ! and — in short — my heart is broken, my spirit is 
embittered, and I wish we were both dead !” 

“ No, no, no,” objected Gladys ; “ not at all; I don’t see 
it. Tell me what he said.” 

Arthur related all that had passed in the interview be- ' 
tween the general and himself, and ended by declaring 
himself infinitely miserable and earnestly desirous of death. 

No, now ; don’t talk so. I will tell you what we will do.” 

“ What — what ?” 

“ We will go and tell mother. She will make it all right.” 

“ Oh, you good, clever, darling Gladys, to think of that 1 
To be sure she will. Come along — let us go directly.” 

“ Stop ! now I think of it, I had better go by myself. I 
can do more alone.” 

“ Yes ; I think so, too. Then go, Gladys — dear, best, 
beautiful Gladys, go! and make haste back.” 

Gladys went in search of her mother, and found the old 
lady conveniently seated in her arm-chair, at the window 
of the back parlor, engaged in knitting. 

Gladys, like a sly puss as she was, cast herself in her 
mother’s arms, and burst into tears, to begin with. 

“ Why, Gladys, darling ; what’s the matter with my 
pet?” inquired her mother, in alarm. 

“ Oh — oh — oh !” sobbed the girl. 

“ Dear, dear, dear I What is the matter, Gladys ? You 
frighten me so.” 

‘‘Oh— oh— oh!” 

“ For heaven’s sake, Gladys 1 What is it, my love ?” 

“ Oh — oh — oh I” 

“ This — this is dreadful. Tell your mother, my darling. 
Tell your own mother, who loves you a thousand times 
more than her own life. Tell her, Gladys.” 

Then the whole story came out ; her lover’s suit, and her 
father’s “cruelty.” 

“And, oh, mother, poor fellow ! to think he is going oflT, 
to be gone so long that it seems to be forever. And it is 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


33 


so cruel to send him awa}^ unhappy. And if he goes away 
so, I shall break my heart, mother ; for I love him so dear- 
13^ !” with a fresh burst of tears. 

“Well, w'ell, my darling — there, don’t cry. It shall all 
be right. There, dry your ej^es, now. Your father loves 
3"ou, and would not make you miserable for the world, and 
you know it. And if he sees that 3"our heart is really set 
on this young man, he will withdraw his refusal and con- 
sent to your engagement ; for really, the j^outh is a good 
youth, with not a fault in the world, as far as I know ” 

“ Oh, mamma, dear mamma I thank you ! — thank you a 
hundred times for saying that of him ; for it is true, he 
good !” 

“ Yes] I think so. Well, and he is at least a gentleman 
bj" birth, education, and profession.” 

“ Yes — yes.” 

“And as his proposal is not so yery unreasonable ” 

“ Oh, no, mamma, not unreasonable. He only wants us 
to be engaged, so that he may be sure of having me some 
time or other, if he and I should both live. And it is such 
a pity that he cannot have that to comfort him on his long, 
lonely voyage.” 

“ He shall have it, my dear. There, don’t cry any more.” 

But my father ?” 

“ I will talk to your father, my darling. He is neither 
unreasonable nor unkind, and he will make it all right.” 

“You will make it all right, darling mamma,” exclaimed 
Gladys, embracing her mother in an excess of gratitude 
and jo}^, and then bounding off to convey the good news to 
Arthur. 

Mrs. Llewellyn went off to find the general. The great 
argument she used with him to effect her purpose was the 
true one. 

“ Gladys’ heart is set on Arthur. If we send him away 
disappointed and hopeless, she will be wretched and 
despairing.” 

2 


31 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


General Llewellyn objected, argued, coaxed ; then 
growled, swore, and — yielded. 

That night the young lovers were made inexpressibly 
happy by the consent of the parents to the immediate 
betrothal. It was arranged that the marriage should take 
place upon the return of Arthur from his three years’ 
cruise, and that the young pair should make their perma- 
nent home at Kader Idris, so that the only daughter should 
not be separated from her doting parents, and the young 
wife should not be without protection during the profes- 
sional absences of her husband. This arrangement was 
highly satisfactory to all parties concerned. 

“ You see, father,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, addressing the 
general, “that this is just as it should be. Arthur is, un- 
der all the circumstances, the very best husband we could 
have for our girl. We know him ; he is a gentleman, a 
good soul, and he loves us as w'ell as her; and'he will be 
contented to stop with us and leave her with us ; and so 
we need not be parted from her ; whereas, if W’e were to 
marry her to a wealthy man, he, the wealthy one, would be 
for carrying her away from us, and that w^ould break our 
hearts. So you see how everything happens for the best.” 

The general growled an admission that if Gladys were 
really obliged to be married sooner or later, why, perhaps, 
it was just as well that she should marry Arthur, whom 
they knew and esteemed, and who w^ould not take her quite 
away from them. 

And so Arthur departed on his three 3"ears’ cruise, full 
of sorrow at the separation from Glad^^s, but full of hope 
of the happiness that awaited him at the end of his term 
of probation. 

But, ah ! how much may happen in three 3^ears to change 
the destiny of men, women, and nations. 

Gladys wept bitterly for awhile, but was comforted by 
the most affectionate of mothers. And sj^mpathy, and 
time, and an occasional letter from Arthur, restored her 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


35 


bright cheerfulness. Before the end of the quarter, Gladys 
had ceased to mourn the departure of her lover, and had 
begun to anticipate his return. 

But greater trials awaited the poor girl. 

Near the end of the first year of Arthur’s absence, her 
good, loving, sympathizing mother grew feeble, took to her 
bed, and died. 

Gladys and her father were both inconsolable, and both 
incapable of directing their family affairs. 

At this crisis a sister-in-law of General Llewellyn’s, the 
needy widow of his younger brother, came uninvited to 
keep house for him. 

This lady, Mrs. Jay Llewellyn, had been" twice a wife, but 
only once a mother. Her only son, James Stukely, a lad 
at this time of about fourteen years of age, was the off- 
spring of her first marriage. She brought him with her to 
Kader Idris, the broken-spirited master of the house making 
no objection to this double intrusion. 

Mrs. Jay Llewellyn, a handsome, stately, fascinating, and 
unscrupulous woman of about forty years of age, addressed 
herself with great art to the task of winning the confidence 
of the widowed husband and the affections of his motherless 
child. And she succeeded in both objects. General Lle- 
wellyn loved and honored her as one of the best and wisest 
of women. And poor unsuspicious Gladys paid her in the 
pure gold of true affection and gratitude for her own base 
counterfeits of interest and sympathy. 

Could the father or the daughter have read that woman’s 
heart aright I Could they have divined her purposes ! 
For from the very first hour of her entrance into that house 
she was “ mistress of the situation,” and had formed her 
plans accordingly. And she was resolved that, come what 
might, by fair means or by foul, her own half idiotic son, 
James Stukely, who was of no kin to the Llewellyn family, 
should become the master of the Llewellyn estate, including 
Kader Idris and all its vast dependencies j and to efiect 


36 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


this purpose she did not hesitate to plan the destruction of 
the heart-broken old man and his motherless child. 

This was what happened. Within a few months after her 
arrival at Kader Idris, and just in proportion as she won 
the confidence of General Llewellyn, General Llewellyn’s 
health failed. And this was the commencement of her 
strange succ^ss. His appetite failed ; his flesh wasted ; his 
strength waned ; his health declined ; 3^et with no tangible 
disease. 

Doctors came ; felt his pulse ; looked at his tongue ; 
sounded his lungs ; and consulted over his case ; but with- 
out ascertaining the presence of any distinct malady. 

“ It is a gradual breaking up of his constitution,” they 
concluded. 

Friends visited him ; condoled with him ; questioned him ; 
but without arriving at any more satisfactory result than 
the physicians had done. 

“ He is pining after his wife,” they agreed. 

Gladys looked anxiously from one face to another among 
physicians and friends in the hope of gleaning some encour- 
agement ; but in vain ; for whatever might be their various 
opinions as to the cause of the old man’s decay, their unan- 
imous decision was that he must soon die ; and they be- 
trayed their conviction in their looks. 

At this time, “Mrs. Jay,” as she was commonly called, 
was a host in herself. She nursed the invalid ; she cheered 
Gladys ; she entertained the visitors ; flattered the doctors ; 
and made herself not only agreeable, but indispensable to 
everybody. 

In the first stage of his illness, the old man was still able 
to walk about the beautiful grounds around Kader Idris, 
though he looked pale, thin, and cadaverous, and was 
obliged to lean upon a stick. 

But as the season advanced, the weather grew cold, and 
his illness increased, these walks grew fewer and farther 
between, until at length he was confined to the house, where 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


87 


he was soon enabled, only with a great deal of effort, to get 
from his bedroom to his breakfast-parlor and back again. 

At last even this became an impossibility, and he was 
confined to his chamber, where his only migrations were 
from his bed to his easy-chair. 

Gladys was now his almost inseparable companion ; and 
often when she sat by his side, reading to him, or playing 
on her guitar, or doing her needle-work, he looked at her 
with the most anxious affection expressed in his wasted face. 

They were sitting thus one day, near the close of Arthur’s 
second year of absence, Gladys reading from Milton’s Para- 
dise Lost, and the old man watching her tenderly, when he 
suddenly broke forth with these words : 

“ Oh, that I might live until Arthur comes back, so as to 
see you married before I die, m}^ darling!” 

Gladys dropped her book, arose and put her arms around 
her father’s neck, laid her fresh cheek to his wasted one, 
and said:' 

“ Dear, dear papa, do not be so anxious about me. What 
am I that you. should disturb yourself so ? And do not 
think of dying ! Oh, you will live many, many years yet I 
At least, I do hope and pray that you may,” she added, 
stifling the sob that arose to her throat. 

“Ah, heaven grant it, my child! but the aged must drop 
into the grave as the ripe fruit to the ground. And the 
only bitterness death has for me is the thought of leaving 
you alone in the world,” he said, in a voice quivering with 
the emotion that he could not entirely govern. 

Gladys could scarcely repress her tears, but they were for 
him rather than for herself then, as she replied : 

“ Dearest, dearest papa, do not grieve so ! do not let the 
thought of how I should be left trouble you so much. My 
own, own papa, do not let anxiety for me add to all the 
other sufferings that you have to endure. Do not think of 
me. Providence will take care of me. Think of your own 
dear life and health. Try to bear up and conquer this 
weakness, and get well.” 


38 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Oh, Glad^^s I how hard I do try ! how hard I do try I 
For your sake, Gladys ! for your sake ! But the ripe fruit 
loosened from its stem, shaken by the wind, ready to fall, 
might as well try to hang on the tree forever !” 

She could not trust herself to answer in words ; she only 
laid her cheek closer to his. 

‘'Gladys, my darling, do you love your Aunt Jay 
Llewellyn he suddenly asked. 

“ Oh, so much, papa ! Next to my own dear mamma in 
heaven, I love her better than any lady I ever saw. She 
is so good, so kind, so sweet I oh, so very sweet!” said 
Gladys, earnestly. 

“ I am veiy glad to hear you say that. Yes, she is an 
angel I Or, rather, she is something better than that. She 
is something more to our purpose. She is a wise, good, 
true woman. Don’t j^ou think so ?” 

“ Oh, yes, papa.” 

“ Gladys, my child, if it should be the will of the Lord to 
remove me from you before the return of your betrothed 
husband, would you like to be left to the guardianship of 
yonr Aunt Ja}^ ?” he inquired, earnestly. 

She started slightly and paused a moment ; then, look- 
ing at her father, and reading eager anxiety in his counten- 
ance, she answered quickly, as if to atone for her hesitation : 

“ Oh, yes, papa, if you would like it.” 

“But would you yourself be satisfied with the arrange- 
ment, my dear?” 

“ Yes, dear, dear papa ! with any thing you like.” 

“ That is not the question. Not what I would like, but 
what you would like, my child I Now, would you be satis- 
fied with your Aunt Jay for a guardian ? If you would 
not, say so. I will not leave you under the control of any 
one against your will. If you would prefer the Reverend 
Mr. Fenton and his wife, say so, m3^ dear.” 

“ Oh, no, dear papa, I do not prefer an}"* one above an- 
other ! I hope and pray there will be no need for me to 
have any guardian but yourself, my own dear papa.” 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 39 

“ That will be as Heaven wills. But you think well of 
your Aunt Jay ; do you not, Gladys?’’ 

“Oh, yes, x^apa.” 

“ So do I. I think she would be kind to my orphan 
child. I do think she would,” he said with so much emo- 
tion that his daughter, heroically repressing her tears, re- 
plied : 

“ Oh, yes, yes, papa I Oh, my own dear papa I Do not 
distress yourself so much about me. If Providence should 
bereave me so heavily. Providence would take care of me.” 

“ Yes, in the end — in the end I As a Christian I 'must 
believe that. And yet, I should rather see you married 
before I die. Young as you were then, I almost regret 
that I did not consent to your marriage with Arthur before 
he went to sea,” said the old man, with a deep, prophetic 
sigh. 

“ Dearest, dearest papa, you will live to see me married I 
You will live to see me quite an old woman myself before 
you go to heaven I At least, I hope and iDray you may,” 
she added, her natural sinceritj^ alwa3^s coming in the way 
of her eager wish to cheer her father. 

“ The Lord grant your x^rayer, child, if it be his will. 
If not, why then his will be done. But cheer up, my dar- 
ling 1 Do not let me sadden you. It is the order of nature 
that x)arents should go before their children. And remem- 
ber, my child, that when at last I shall be called to leave 
3^ou, I shall go to our Lord, our Saviour ; and to all the 
good, and wise, and great, who have been in heaven these 
inan^^ years ; and to the familiar friends of my mortal life 
who have gone before me ; and to m^^ own dear wife, your 
sainted mother, Gladys.” 

And she tried to be cheerful for his sake. 

Many such conversations as these the father and daugh- 
ter held together, hoping to console and strengthen each 
other before the coming separation. 

The old man had several 3'ears before made a will, be- 


40 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


queathing the whole of his real and personal estate unre- 
servedly and unconditionally to his beloved wife, knowing 
that, in the event of her surviving him, she would, in her 
turn, bequeath it in like manner to theii* only child. 

Now, however, that his wife had gone before him, he 
thought it necessary to make another will. So he de- 
stroyed the first one and executed a second, devising his 
whole estate to his only daughter, Gladys, and appointing 
as her guardian his esteemed friend, Mrs. Jane Llewellyn. 

In the whole course of his long life this was the only act of 
madness that General Llewellyn had ever committed. And 
this may be said in his defence — that Mrs. Jay Llewelljm 
was so tender, so affectionate, so devoted, and so self-sacri- 
ficing — in appearance — that she might have deceived an 
angel of wisdom as she 'deceived this simple veteran and 
his artless child. 

True, neither the father nor the daughter were left with- 
out a witness against her, in the depths of their own hearts ; 
a witness whispering that this fair, smooth woman, was not 
true and trustworthy, but false and dangerous ; a witness 
speaking not through their reason, but through their in- 
stinct ; a witness never succeeding in inspiring a suspicion, 
but only a misgiving. It was this misgiving that caused 
General Llewellyn to heave that deep prophetic sigh which 
accompanied his expressed regret that he had not mar- 
ried Gladys to Arthur before the latter sailed on his last 
voyage. 

Neither father nor daughter ever spoke of this secret, 
dim misgiving, because they disbelieved in it, they were 
ashamed of it, and they reproached themselves for even 
feeling it. 

How could they do otherwise in the presence of Mrs. 
Llewellyn’s admirable, irreproachable character and con- 
duct ? — her daily ministrations of tenderness and benevo- 
lence ? — her wisdom and goodness ? — her sweet humility 
and self-devotion ? 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYJS". 


41 


I tell you that when either father or daughter became 
conscious of the “ still small voice” that warned them against 
this devil in the garb of an angel of light, they felt shocked 
at themselves ; the old man called himself a “beast,” and 
the 3'oung girl deplored her own ingratitude ; but neither 
spoke to the other of what was sometimes felt in the bottom 
of each heart. 

Two days after the execution of that fatal document that 
gave his daughter, for the term of her minority, into the 
irresponsible power of a female fiend. General Llewellyn 
expired. 

This w'as the manner of his death : — Having persuaded 
himself that he had arranged all his worldly affairs in the 
manner best calculated to promote his daughter’s welfare 
and happiness, he felt calmer and easier in his mind. And 
having eaten a better dinner than usnal, he composed him- 
self in his easy-chair, to take his usual afternoon nap. His 
daughter sat sewing by his side, keeping up the fire, and 
watching him with affectionate vigilance. She arose and 
bent over him, once in awhile, and noticed that he breathed 
softly and regularly ; and she knew that he slept soundly 
and comfortably. And although he slept much longer than 
usual, and although his favorite servant. Aunt Ailie, brought 
up his tea at the usual hour, his daughter would not allow 
him to be disturbed ; he still slept so sweetly, breathed so 
softly". 

At length, however, when she looked at him again, she 
perceived that he did not breathe at all ; she caught up his 
hand, it was cold ; she felt his pulse, it was still ; and then 
she knew that he was dead. 

She made no outcry ; her heart seemed suddenly to stop 
and become as still as his own. 

Then she flew silently out of the chamber and down stairs 
into the presence of Mrs. Jay Llewellyn, seated in the 
drawingroom, and exclaimed, in a low, breathless voice: 

“ Oh, Aunt Llewellyn ! come to papa I he is — he is ” 


42 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Her strength failed and she leaned tremblingly upon the 
back of Mrs. Jay’s chair. 

Mrs. Jay did not wait for the end of the sentence. She 
quickly arose and went up stairs, followed slowly by Gladj's^ 
who tottered and held on to the balustrades for support. 

Yes ; the old man had sunk into his last earthly sleep. 
Mrs. Jay’s hasty but careful examination left no doubt of 
that. 

She put her arms around Gladys, and drew the orphan’s 
head upon her bosom, and whispered tenderly : 

“ Your dear father is gathered to his fathers, my darling. 
Let us bow in humble resignation to the will of heaven.” 

And she led her gently to the sofa and made her lie down, 
while she rang and summoned assistance. 

The household servants gathered into the room. 

Mrs. Llewellyn told them, with impressive solemnity, 
what had happened, and directed them what to do. 

Awe-stricken and half heart-broken, they lifted the body 
of their beloved old master and tenderl^^ laid it upon the bed^ 

Then some of them remained in the room, reverently 
watching beside the dead, while others hurried away to fetch 
the family physician and the family clergyman. 

In the course of the day these arrived, and did what they 
could do under the circumstances, which was next to nothing. 

The physician pronounced the sudden death of General 
Llewellyn to be just what might have been expected any 
day for the last month. And the clergyman spoke religious 
consolation to the bereaved daughter and sister. Gladys 
listened humbly, reverently, and gratefully, and tried to 
take the good counsel to heart. But as she was perfectly 
silent, and as Mrs. Llewell}^ was fluent in her responses, 
the clergyman went away with the impression that the 
maiden was rather insensible and that the lady felt the 
event very deeply. 

A few days after this the remains of General Llewellyn 
were taken to Stan well and buried with military honors, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 


43 


and with all the pomp, pride, and circumstance of war and 
of death. 

And the orphan returned to her desolate home. 

The will of General Llewellyn was read in the large din- 
ing-room by the family solicitor, in the presence of the 
family physician, clergyman, friends, and servants. 

And then the funeral guests dispersed. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE TREASON. 

In life’s great Lazar-lionse each breath 
We breathe may bring or spread the pest, 

And daily each may catch his death 

Troni those that lean upon his breast . — Owen Meredith. 

Mrs. Llewellyn assumed the reins of domestic govern- 
ment ; but she did not at once throw off her mask. It M^as 
not as yet necessary to do . so. She was veiy kind to 
Gladys, sympathizing with all her sorrows ; consulting all 
her tastes ; and indulging all her inclinations ; and therefore 
securing, for the time at least, her gratitude, affection, and 
confidence. 

Gladys grieved deeply for the death of her father ; but , 
the grief of youth is not lasting. Youth buries its dead in 
forgetfulness. Youth’s eyes are not turned to the past, but 
to the future. And so it followed that, as the months 
rolled on and brought the close of the last year of Arthur’s 
absence, Gladys ceased to weep for the loss of her father, 
and beo-an to look forward to the return of her lover. It 

o 

is true that she had not heard from him for many months ; 
but she comforted herself for the want of his letters by the 
reflection that he must be on his voyage home, and that he 
must arrive sooner than any letters from him could reach her. 


44 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Some unaccountable reluctance restrained Gladys from 
speaking to her aunt of her betrothal, although she knew 
that Mrs. Llewellyn was perfectl}^ well acquainted with that 
betrothal, as she w'as with all the family secrets, or rather’ 
the family affairs, for there never had been any secrets in 
that simple household. 

At length, however, when the end of the year came, and 
no news had reached her of Arthur or his ship, her reluc- 
tance to speak was overcome by her anxiety to hear ; and 
so one day in the early autumn, when Mrs. Llewellyn and 
herself were sitting together, engaged in needle-work, out 
in the vine-shaded porch, she said : 

“ Don’t you think it strange. Aunt Llewellyn, that I do 
not get any letters from Arthur?” 

“No, my love, I do not. I think it quite natural.” 

“ Oh, I know that the Pacific is a long way ofi*, and that 
when he once starts to come home I can hear no more from 
him until he gets here ; but, indeed, I think his ship ought 
to be in port by this time. It sailed for a three years’ 
cruise, which was long enough in all conscience ; long 
enough to break one’s heart. But even the three years 
have come to an end at last, though the cruise it seems has 
not, as the ship is not in port. What can be the reason ?” 
said Gladys, with a sigh. 

“My dear, the ship is in port,” said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ The ship in port. Aunt Llewell^m 1 Arthur’s ship ! 
Why did 3^011 not tell me so before ? Oh, when did she get 
in?” exclaimed Gladys, starting from her chair in the ex- 
cess of her joy and restlessness. 

“ My dear, when I say that the ship is in port, I speak 
from moral conviction rather than from actual knowledge. 
I have no doubt that she is in ; though I do not know 
when she got in, having seen no notice of her arrival.” 

“ Oh, then we ma}^ expect dear Arthur any day, an^^ hour, 
ah, almost any minute ! Oh, think he may be even now 
turning into the road I” exclaimed Glad^^s, excitedly. 


THE BRIDE OF LLE-^^ELLYN. 


45 


“ My dear, I do not think that he will come,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn, gravely. 

Gladys paused in her restless flutterings, and stood as if 
transfixed, and stared at Mrs. Llewellyn, repeating with 
pallid lips : 

“Not come I Arthur not come I Oh, Aunt Llewellyn, 
something has happened to him ! What is it ? Is he ill 


She could not speak the other dread alternative : she 
turned deadly pale, reeled, and grasped the hack of the 
settee for support. 

“ He is alive and well for aught I know to the contrary, 
Gladys,” said Mrs. Llew'ellyn. 

Gladys soon recovered herself and, smiling, said ; 

“ Then he will soon be here, for he is not false and fickle. 
He is good and true. That I know.” 

“ He may or may not be what you think him, my child. 
Yet he will not come,” persisted Mrs. Llewellyn. 

Again Gladys became alarmed ; but not to the extent 
that she had been before. 

“ Oh, why do you continue to say that ? What has 
occurred ? It can never be that he has been left behind at 
some foreign port ?” 

“Oh, no; I suppose not.” 

“Nor could he have got into any trouble, or been court- 
martialed, or any thing like that. Because if he has I 
know it must have been upon false grounds.” 

“No, my dear, there is nothing of that sort that I know 
of. I have no doubt that he is with his ship and in good 
standing in his profession.” 

“ Then why will he not come ? Of course he will come I 
Why should you think otherwise ?” said Gladys, beginning 
to pout. 

“ My dear, I had better tell you at once,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn. And then she paused and refiected a few min- 
utes, while Gladys waited eagerly to hear what she had t(5 
say. 


‘46 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 


Yes ; the hour had now come at which she must prepare 
to la}!^ aside her mask and show her true aspect. 

“My dear Gladys,” she commenced, “if I have not 
broached this subject to you before, it has been from my 
great affection for you, and my great reluctance to give you 
pain. Had you, however, sooner mentioned this young 
man’s name to me, I should have been sooner forced to 
make the communication that I am now about to make. 
But you never spoke of your lover to me until this after- 
noon ; and I for my part felt glad of the delay and hoped 
that you had forgotten him.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Llewellyn !” 

^ “ Now, however, that you have brought up his name, and 
revealed to me, I am sorry to say, that you still care for 
him, I am forced at last into an explanation that I fear 
will give you much pain.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Llewellyn ! What is it that you can have to 
say of Arthur that is to give me so much pain, since all is 
well with him ? Speak at once ; only speak no ill of him !” 
entreated Gladys, clasping her hands. 

“I shall speak no ill of him, since I know none,” said 
the lady, with an air of candor. “You know, Gladys, the 
great mark of confidence given me by your dear departed 
father when he made me the guardian of his daughter, the 
trustee of his estate, and the executrix of his will ?” 

“ Yes, madam.” 

“ It was really a great proof of his confidence in me, 
since it invested me with all a parent’s power over his 
daughter during her minority.” 

“ I know it, madam.” 

“ It is a power that I shall never abuse ; since I hold my- 
self responsible to the Lord himself for its exercise,” said 
the lady, solemnly. 

“I am sure you do. Aunt Llewellyn. But — about 

Arthur?” said Gladys, beseechingly. 

“ Yes, about Arthur. Well, as I said, the late General 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


47 


Llewellyn had great confidence in my humble self, of which 
he has given abundant proof. But not even in his last will 
did he give me a greater proof of confidence than he after- 
ward gave me in intrusting to me the management of a 
certain delicate afiair. Can you guess the nature of that 
affair, Gladys?” 

“No, indeed. Aunt Llewellyn, I cannot.” 

“ Then I must beg you to look back three years, and re- 
call the day upon which your late lamented father first be- 
came acquainted with your misplaced affection for this 
young midshipman.” 

“‘Misplaced,’ Aunt Llewellyn! Oh, not misplaced!” 
said Gladys, lighting down upon this one word in alarm. 

“ In his, your father’s estimation, sadly misplaced. You 
remember, Gladys, how violently he was oj)posed to the 
very idea of 3'pur marriage with Arthur?” 

“At first ; but only because he had formed very ambitious 
projects for the advancement of his child. He had no per- 
sonal objection to Arthur, whom, on the contrary, he loved 
and esteemed very, very much.” 

“ I know nothing about that, my dear ; but I do know 
that he firmly opposed your engagement.” 

“ Only just at first, when it took him by surprise, in the 
midst of his more ambitious thoughts for me ; but after- 
ward, upon reflection, he sanctioned it.” 

“ I think you are mistaken, my love, in supposing that 
your dear father ever, by word or deed, sanctioned your 
engagement with that 3"oung man. The mesalliance would 
be too absurd.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Llewellyn, he did ! indeed he did ! Not only 
formally sanctioned it, but approved of it and took comfort 
in it. Oh, and he even, poor, dear father, expressed his 
regret that he had not permitted us to be married before 
Arthur sailed.” 

Mrs. Llewelljm’s impassable features expressed astonish- 
ment. 


48 


THE BKIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


“ That is very strange, for many reasons, very strange. 
In the first place, you were only fifteen 3'ears of age, and 
the marriage of such a mere child, even with the most eligi- 
ble party, which this 3"Oung midshipman certainly was not, 
would have been highl3" improper.” 

“ M3’ dear papa, in his last illness, on looking back, did 
not think so. He thought, as Arthur had been then on the 
eve of departure for a three years’ cruise, that the nuptial 
benediction would have been no more than an indissoluble 
betrothal ; and would have differed from the betrothal only 
in securing to me a legal protector.” 

“ I think that 3’'our clear father, terribly shaken by the 
loss of his wife, could not have been at all times perfectly 
consistent in his last illness, at least he se^s to have 
changed his mind very often. At all events, Glad3^s, my 
dear, I think it a happy thing for you that tlj^re was neither 
marriage nor betrothal to bind you to a young man so much 
your inferior in social position.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Llewell3Ti I there was a betrothal ! a solemn 
betrothal, blessed by my sainted father and mother on that 
sorrowful day of our separation for three long years ! a 
betrothal that I hold to be as binding as any marriage I 
and that Arthur considers equally sacred !” said Gladys, 
with the tears starting to her e3"es. 

“ A mistake, my love — a mistake, I assure you. Now 
listen to me. I opened this discussion by informing 3^011 
that 3’'our father had given me a proof of his confidence in 
intrusting to my management a very delicate affair. You 
must have guessed b3^ this time that this affair w^as no other 
than your relations with 3"Oung — what’s his name ?” 

“ Oh, Aunt Llewell3m, I hope ” 

‘‘ Listen to me, m3’ clear. Your dear father made me his 
confidant ; he intrusted to me all his secret troubles ; — the 
greatest of all these was his grief at your misplaced attach- 
ment ” 


“ Oh, Aunt Llewellyn ! If he ever talked so to you, he 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


49 


must indeed have been wandering in his mind, under the 
influence of fever and delirium ! It is all so inconsistent 
with what he has said to me !” exclaimed Gladys, divided 
between her emotions of grief, surprise and amazement. 

“ My child, your dear father was never calmer, or more 
coherent, than when h-e talked to me of this matter and 
intrusted to me two letters that he had prepared — one for 
you and one for your lover. The one for you was to be re- 
tained by me until I should see the proper time for deliver- 
ing it to you. The one for your lover was to be sent to 
him through the Navy Department.” 

“And you sent it. Aunt ?” 

“ I sent it, my dear. No doubt Arthur received it in 
due time, and that is the reason he has not presented him- 
self here.” 

“ Oh I but he will do so — he will do so. He is my betroth- 
ed, and we were to have been married immediately upon 
his return, and nothing but death will prevent him from 
keeping his appointment !” exclaimed Gladys. 

“ My dear, that very letter forbade his approaching the 
house, or yourself.” 

“ Oh, how could my father have written such a letter as 
that after all his promises I after all that he has said to me, 
too I and without telling me of it I But he never did it ! 
No, no, dear, dear father 1 Your lips are dumb -in death, 
or they would deny this charge ; but your daughter will 
not believe it of you even though you cannot deny it !” ex- 
claimed the girl, passionately. 

“ Gladys, my love, do you know exactly what you are 
saying in your excitement ? Do you know, my dear, that 
you are aspersing my character for truthfulness ? Gladys, 
remember .that it is I who tell you that your father wrote 
that letter. Do you mean to insinuate that I spoke falsely ?” 
said Mrs. Llewellyn, with a fair assumption of candor and 
forbearance. 

“ Oh, no, no, no. Aunt Jay 1 I did not mean to insinuate 

‘ 3 


50 


THE BRIDE O F L L E W ELLYN. 


any thing against you. But indeed I am so troubled that 
I hardly know what I say, or even what I think. Forgive 
me, Aunt Jay, if I have said any thing improper,” said the 
gentle girl. 

“ I will hand you your father ^s letter, Gladys ; perhaps 
that will settle your doubts, if you really have any,” said 
the lady, speaking with dignity. 

“ Oh, Aunt Llewellyn, how I wish you had given me the 
letter and this explanation before this !” exclaimed Gladys, 
bitterly. 

“My dear, the time for doing so was left to my owm dis- 
cretion. Your father hoped, as I did, that the letter he 
had written to the young man, would keep him away, as no 
doubt it has done ; and that time, change, and absence, 
would cause you to forget him, and so obviate the necessity 
of my interference, in which case I was not to give you the 
letter at all. But seeing now that you still remember him, 
and look forward with anxiety to his return, I think it best 
to give you the letter with its explanation.” 

And so saying, Mrs. Llewellyn left the weeping girl and 
went into the house, whence she soon returned, bringing 
the fatal letter. 

“You know your father’s handwriting, Gladys,” said the 
lady, as she put the letter in the orphan’s hands. 

“ Oh, yes, yes,” sighed Gladys, as she looked at the super- 
scription, and pressed it to her lips. 

“ Bead it, then.” 

Gladys did not need this direction. She quickly broke 
the seal, and eagerly devoured the contents of the letter. 
It was addressed on the inside — 

To My Beloved and Only Child Gladys from her Dyiny 

Father. 

My Darling : — I write this from my chamber of death ! 
When it reaches your eyes, the heart that dictates it, the 
hand that traces it, will be cold and still for evermore. It 


T II K B R I D E OF L L E W E L L Y Y . 


51 


will come to you then as a message from the grave. As 
such let it be heeded. My Gladys, you never disobeyed me 
while living, and I feel sure that you will never disregard 
my dying command — a command laid on you, my dearest 
child, for your own happiness alone ! You know how 
strongly I have alwa3^s been opposed to j^our misguided 
fancy for 3-oung Arthur Powis ; but 3mu do not know how 
anxiously I have desired your union with a certain other. 
I adjure you, therefore, Gladys, as you value the blessing 
of your dead father, as 3mu dread his curse, to break off all 
correspondence with 3"Oung Powis, and to make up your 
mind to receive as your destined husband my esteemed 
young friend, James Stukely, the son of my beloved sister- 
in-law, your honored aunt, Mrs. Jay LleTvellyn. And that 
just in the degree in which you receive and obey this, my 
last command, may the Lord bless and save 3mu, in this 
world and the next, is the prayer of your loving and dying 
father, Griffith Llewellyn. 

The letter fluttered from her relaxing fingers and fell to 
the floor. And she gazed out into vacancy with blank con- 
sternation depicted upon every feature of her white and 
motionless face. 

“ Well, Gladys ! what do you think now inquired Mrs. 
Llewellyn. 

She started out of her trance of amazement and answered 
wildly. 

Madam, I do not know what to think, except that I 
most be mad ! My father never wrote that letter ! Oh, 
no, no ! my father never could have written that letter I he 
never could have stabbed his child to the heart like that!’^ 
^ “ Gladys 

“Ah I forgive me I I forgot I I forgot that it was you 
who said he wrote it I I beg your pardon, Aunt Jay I But 
I am bewildered ! It is all so strange ! Oh, I wish Arthur 
were onlv here to consult with me ! Oh, I hope I am not 


62 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


going mad I But I must be losing my reason, since I can- 
not understand this at all I” And Gladys threw her hands 
up to her head, reeled, and sank down upon the settee. 
She had not fainted, however. A glass of water brought 
to her by Mrs. Llewell}^ helped to restore her strength. 

“ Thank you, madam,” she said when she had drunk the 
water and returned the glass. “ I will go to my room now, 
and try to understand this. Give me the letter, please.” 
And she arose and took the letter from Mrs. Llewellyn’s 
hand and retired. 

That cruel letter was almost a death-warranf to Gladys. 
She could not believe in it ; yet she dared not doubt it. She 
was half-crazed with her perplexity, and she i^rayed for the 
return of Arthur that she might show him her letter, and 
read Ms, and that they might together seek some solution 
of the mystery ; for, notwithstanding Mrs. Llewellyn’s ex- 
planation, a mystery it remained to her. Slie did not leave 
her room again that afternoon, and she did not sleep, a 
moment that night. 

In the morning, however, she came to breakfast, but look- 
ing pale, haggard, and hollow-eyed, like one just risen from 
a grievous fit of illness. 

Mrs. Llewellyn kissed her tenderly, but did not allude to 
the subject of the letter ; and Gladys, for her part, shrunk 
from it. 

After breakfast Mrs. Llewellyn retired to write a sum- 
mons to her son, who was now at the Virginia University. 

And Gladys, with the restlessness of one half-distracted 
with anxiety, put on her little black hat — she was still in 
deep mourning for her father — and strolled out upon the 
front lawn. 

Nearly an hour she had spent in wandering listlessly 
among the shaded walks of the beautiful grounds, when 
happening to look up, she saw a dust in the road skirting 
the forest in the middle distance. While she still looked, 
a horseman came in view. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


53 


Then, suddenly, with a wild cry of joy, she bounded from 
the spot where she stood, and ran like a deer across the 
lawn to the outer gate. 

Simultaneously the rider dashed up, and threw himself 
from his horse. 

And the next moment the long-severed, betrothed lovers, 
were clasped in each other’s arms. 

How changed they both were in all but their mutual love, 
and yet how instantaneously they recognized each other. 
Arthur, who had gone away a slender, fair-skinned strip- 
ling, a mere slip of a boy, had now returned a tall, broad- 
shouldered, sun-burned man. And Gladys, whom he had 
left a light-hearted child, was now a pensive woman. 

At first, their embrace was a close, fervent, silent pres- 
sure of heart to heart, and then both spoke at once. 

‘‘ Oh, Gladys !” 

Oh, Arthur.!” 

Oh, what a happiness to meet you again, my love.!” 

“ Oh, thank heaven that you are here at last, dear Arthur I” 

“But you are so pale, my darling! Have you been ill, 
Gladys ?” 

“ Oh, no ; but I have suffered so much ! I have been so 
anxious about you ! For six months I did not get a letter !” 

“ Why, I wrote to you by every ship ! I wrote even' up 
to the last week before I sailed, by the Peacock, who sailed 
f ve days before us and got into port ten days before us. 
You should have had a letter about twice a month, regu- 
larly ; and you should have had one within the last week.” 

“ I have had none for the last half year.” 

“ There must be some foul play here that shall be in- 
quired into !” said the young man, with a frown. 

“ Oh, no ! who would be so guilty ?” 

“ Whoever it was shall be punished for all they have made 
you suffer, my darling. And oh ! how much of suffering 
your poor little face reveals !” said the young man, taking 
her head between his hands, and gazing tenderly upon her. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


X 




“ Oh ! it is not anxiety about not hearing from you that 
caused the worst of my suffering, dear Arthur ; for, although 
I could not hear from you, I was sure you were on j^our 
way home, and that comforted me. But 3^esterday, Arthur, 
only yesterday, I heard for the first time of that cruel letter 
that was written to j’^ou.” 

The young man’s face gre»w dark. 

“Ah ! that letter ! Who forged that letter, Gladys ?” he 
inquired, sternly. 

“ Oh ! then you do not believe that poor papa wrote it !” 
exclaimed Glad^^s, in pleased surprise. 

“ Certainly not. Do you 

“ Oh, Arthur ! I do not know what to believe ! I am 
perfectly confounded ! But if papa did not write the letter, 
or the letters — for there were two of them, one being ad- 
dressed to me — WHO did 

“ Ah ! that is the question !” 

“ Arthur ! I don’t believe papa wrote those letters, and 
yet I don’t dare to believe that he didn’t !” 

“ Why, Gladys, don’t 3^011 dare to believe that he 
didn’t ?” 

“ Why, because my Aunt Llewell3ui sa3^s that he wrote 
them, and gave them to her to deliver.” 

“'Gladys, who is Mrs. Llewellyn?” inquired the young 
man. 

“ Oh, she is an angel, Arthur !” 

“ Yery possibly. But wLat is she to 3’'OU ?” 

“ Oh, of no real kin, you know ! She is only the widow 
of poor papa’s half brother! But for all that, she has 
been an angel of goodness to us all ! She came without 
waiting to be sent for, direetty after poor mamma’s death, 
and took charge of every thing, and kept house for papa 
until his death. And now she is so good as to stay and 
take care of me.” 

“Yes. She is a penniless widow, I believe?” 

“ Y — cs, I believe so.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


55 


“ With a portionless son ?” 

Yes.’’ 

“ Whom she wishes to provide for by marrying him to 
you !” 

“ Oh, Arthur, how absurd! James Stukely is nothing 
but a boy, and a half idiot at 'that!” said Gladys, laughing. 

He is now sixteen years of age, and a freshman at the 
University of Yirginia.” 

“ But for all that, I tell you, he is a half idiotic boy. 
And the idea of his ever marrying any body is prepos- 
terous !” 

“A^et his mother intends that he shall marry you and 
come into the possession of the Kader Idris estates.” 

“ Oh, Arthur, how ridiculous ! His mother never breathed 
such a thing !” 

“No, perhaps not ; but she put it into the letter she had 
written to me.” 

“ Arthur, dear, do you believe that Aunt Llewellyn had 
any thing to do with these letters beyond receiving them 
and mailing yours and delivering mine ?” 

“ I can believe any and every thing, of any and every 
body, more easily than I can believe that your poor dear 
father could have been guilty of writing those letters ?” 

“I am so glad to hear you say so, Arthur! for to tell 
you the truth, I agree with you, although I should have 
been afraid to express myself as you have done.” 

“ Gladys, of course, then, you do not mean to be gov- 
erned by those letters ?” 

“ Of course not, unless I could be convinced that thej' 
are all genuine.” 

“ That you will never be ! On the contrary, you will 
soon be convinced that they are base forgeries ! For 1 
mean to sift this matter to the bottom ! And by all that 
is high and hol}^ good and true, when I discover the 
forgers who have dared to desecrate the name and memory 
of the dead, I will prosecute them — be they men or women, 


56 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN.' 


high or low, with the utmost rigor of the law ! — Gladys 1 
have you that letter about you ?” 

“ The one that was written to me ? Oh, yes.” 

“ Give it to me, my dear.” 

“I will, when we get to the house, dear Arthur I It is 
better for us to go there at once.” 

‘‘ And be confronted with Mrs. Llewellyn I” 

“Ah no I She is spending the forenoon in her room, 
writing.” 

“Very well, then, my darling, we will go up to the 
house.” 


CHAPTER III. 

ARTHUR AND MRS. LLEWELLYN FACE TO FACE. 

“Those are the likest copies which are .drawn 
From the originals of human life.” — Roscommon. 

Lemuel, the hall footman, who in boyhood had been the 
constant attendant of young Powis in all his rural sports, 
was standing at the front door. Immediately recognizing 
the new comer, he impulsively ran out to greet him Muth a 
joyous yet respectful welcome. 

“Well, Lem, old fellow, is that you? How does the 
world go with you ?” inquired the young sailor, cordially 
shaking the hand of his humble friend. 

“ Upsi’ down, Marse Arthur, sir ; wery upsi’ down, in- 
deed, since de ole marse and missis done ’parted this life. 
Glad to see you back again, hows’ever, sir, and hojics now, 
afore long, as dere’ll be another 3"Oung marse and missis 
ober de ole hall, to reign ober us all and put things to 
rights,” answered Lemuel, liberally displaying two rows of 
ivory in a jet black setting, as he grinned from ear to ear. 

“ Thank you for your good wishes, old fellow. I hope 
so, too,” replied the 3^oiing man, good liumoredly. 


THE BKIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 5? 

Lemuel, with much formality, now led the way to the draw- 
ing-room, and, with a grand flourish, threw open the door. 

“ Shall I denounce your revival to de madam, sar ?” in- 
quired Lemuel with a succession of bows. 

“ No ; certainl}^ not. I understand that Mrs. Llewellyn 
is engaged in her own apartment. Do not disturb her on 
any account,” said the young man. 

Lemuel paused with the door in his hand, as if he waited 
and wished to do something to show his devotion to the guest. 

“ You may bring some wine and sandwiches here, directly. 
But stay ! Arthur, perhaps you would like to go to your room 
first ? You know where to And it. It is your old room, 
kept ready for you all this time. Lemuel will attend you,” 
said Gladys. 

‘‘No, no, dearest. I wish to go nowhere until I have had 
a talk with you. I must make use of the present oppor- 
tunity, lest we should be interrupted by your aunt,” replied 
Arthur, in a low voice. 

“ Then, Lemuel, you may just bring the refreshments 
here, as I ordered,” said Gladys. 

With a flourish of bows, the footman backed himself out 
on this errand. 

“Now, then, dear Gladys, this letter,” said Arthur, im- 
patiently, as he led her to the sofa and seated himself be- 
side her. 

She drew the paper from her bosom and put it into his hand. 

He opened and read it slowly, with scornful eyes, flushed 
cheeks, and curling lips. When he had flnished it, he did 
not return it to her, but put it securely in his own pocket, 
from which he also drew the other letter and handed it to her. 

She opened and ran her eyes carefully over it. It was 
the same in effect, and very nearly the same in phraseology, 
with the one that had been written to her. It ran as follows : 

“ My Dear Arthur : — I write this letter with death upon 
me. When it reaches you, and while you read these lines, 

I 


/ 


58 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


the hand that traces them will be mouldering in the grave. 
Stop and let that thought sink into your heart before you 
read further. And now, as a message from the dead, as a 
voice from the grave, receive and revere my words ! As I 
have ever filled a father’s i^lace, and done a father’s duty 
b}^ your orphaned boyhood, give me now a son’s attention 
and obedience! You are aware how strongl}'- I opposed 
your wish to marry my daughter Glad3^s. This opposition, 
Arthur, grew out of no personal dislike to yourself, as you 
may feel assured, but out of other designs that I had formed 
for my daughter’s welfare and happiness. For years it has 
been my cherished wish to live to see my darling, at some 
future time, the wife of my esteemed young friend, James 
Stukel}^ But the hand of death is on me. I cannot live 
to cany out m3" plans for my child’s good. Dying, there- 
fore, I solemnly adjure 3-011, as 3-011 value the blessing of an 
old man who has been more than a father to 3^0111* orphanage, 
and as you dread his curse, give up all pursuit of Glad3^s, 
and leave her to the man chosen for her husband b3- her 
parents. And as 3-011 obey or disobey in this, may the 
blessing or the curse of heaven attend you through life, and 
unto death. Griffith Hugh Lleivellyn.” 

“ Yo ; my father never w-rote this letter ; in his last illness 
he was too conscientious to have attempted to break our 
engagement; he was, also, too affectionate to have be- 
queathed us so much sorrow ; and, more than all, he was 
far too reverential than ever to have seized on the preroga- 
tive of Divinity, and to have launched threats and curses 
in the shocking manner that he is made to seem to do 1” 
said Gladys, returning the letter. But as he took it she 
suddenly snatched it back, saying : 

“ Sta3^ ! I did not think of it before ! but I did notice a “ 
something singular about that signature! Let me look at 
it again !” 

He 3'ielded it iq) with a look of surprise ; and she ex- 
amined it closely. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYX. 


6 ^ 


“ Well, deai'est, what have you discovered ?” he inquired. 

“ Look at this signature. Do you see nothing Grange 
about it she asked, fixing her great dilated eyes upon 
him and then pointing to the name. 

“No!’’ he answered. 

“It is tremulous I” 

“ I see ; but that goes for nothing, since it purports to 
have been written by a dying man, whose hand must be 
supposed to have trembled in the efibrt of writing.” 

“ Yes ; but, dearest Arthur, look at the letter ; there is 
no sign of such tremulousness in that ; but only in the 
signature ! And, besides, even in the signature the tremu- 
lousness is not that of a failing hand, but of a tracing hand ! 
Look at it ! There are no hair strokes in the letters. They 
are all of one thickness, and full of minute irregularities, 
such as the lines of my drawing used to be when I would 
put the copy up before a window-pane and trace my sub- 
ject, instead of drawing it by eye.” 

Before Gladys had done speaking the j^'oung man had re- 
possessed himself of the paper and was examining the sig- 
nature with great carefulness by the aid of a pocket-lens. 
Then h,e took the other letter from his pocket, and examined 
the signature of that, and then he compared them together. 

“Well?” eagerly exclaimed Gladys, who had kept her 
expanded eyes fixed upon him all this while. 

“Well, dearest, you are perfectly right. These signatures 
are both traced. And from precisely the same copy. And 
each has been traced twice. First, by placing the paper 
over the copy against a window-pane and using a lead pen- 
cil, and then by laying the paper on a table or desk and 
going over the pencil marks with pen and ink. If you will 
take this lens you will be able to see the pencil mark under 
those minute irregularities of the pen strokes,” he said,* 
drawing a stand before her, laying out the two letters 
upon it, and placing the lens in her hand. 

“ I do see it now ! AVby these signatures must both have 


60 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


been traced from some one autograph of my father’s in the 
writer’s possession,” said Gladys, gazing as if her eyes 
were fascinated to the paper. 

“ In the forger's possession ! Don’t let us confound 
terms, Gladys ! These letters are forgeries, and Mrs. 
Llewelljui is the forger 1” 

“ Heaven of heavens! Arthur, how can you sa}’- that?” 
exclaimed the deeply shocked girl. 

“Because I firmly believe what I say. If they were not 
forged b}^ Mrs. Llewellyn, by whom were they forged ?” 

“ Oh, Arthur, not by her ! not by her! She is so good, 
so kind, so true. Poor papa thought she was an angel.” 

“ Did you ever learn from books, if not from life, that 
there are hypocrites in the world, Gladys ? Have you* 
never been taught by the Holy Scriptures, if not by experi- 
ence, that there are devils in the form of angels of light ?” 
said the young man, with eyes flashing indignation and 
scorn. 

“ Oh, Arthur, Arthur, do not tell me any more just now. 
Let me get ovei* this. Give me a little time. Oh, I had 
almost rather die than hear of such things, and especially 
of Aunt Llewellyn. But I cannot believe it of her.. Oh, 
no, Arthur ; I cannot believe it. I cannot !” exclaimed 
Gladys, shrinking and shuddering and covering her face 
with her hands. 

“ Heaven knows that I would willingly conceal from you 
the existence of so much and such deep evil, my pure lily. 
But when this evil lays wait for you and threatens your 
happiness, if not your destruction, I must reveal it to you 
at whatever cost of temporary pain to yourself, Gladys,” 
he said. 

She did not answer, except by dropping her covered 
face upon the stand, and moaning softly. 

“ Listen further, my dearest. Observe the cruel art 
with which those letters were constructed. Thej’’ were in- 
tended lirst to deceive us, and, if that should be impossilfle, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


61 


secondly to deceive others. And hence from the beginning 
to the end of those letters there is neither admission nor 
denial of the act of betrothal between us. If there had 
been a denial of it, we should have seen at a glance that it 
was falsehood and not the work of your father, whose word 
was truth. While if there had been any admission of our 
betrothal, it might have been construed into legal consent 
and defeated the very purpose for which the letters were 
forged, namely, to prevent our marriage. The letters were, 
therefore, carefully worded in a manner calculated to im- 
press us with the idea that he did not deny, but repented, 
having consented to our betrothal, and to persuade others, 
who knew nothing about it and who might be called to 
judge, that he never had countenanced, or even been cog- 
nizant of such an engagement. That was very good art ; 
but the tracing of both signatures by the same pattern was 
very bad art. Don’t you see 

“ Oh, I see, I see ! and I believe the letters to be forgeries ; 
but I cannot, oh I I cannot believe Aunt Llewelljm to have 
been the forger. Consider, it is a crime ! a crime punisha- 
ble by imprisonment in the penitentiary ! And she is a 
lady ! Oh, horror I horror ! horror I” exclaimed Gladys, 
pressing her hands before her face. 

“ Gladys I come what will, I will test this matter!” said 
the young man, firmly, but kindly, as he bent over her 
bowed head. 

Both were so completely absorbed by each other, and by 
the subject they had in hand, that neither heard the opening 
of the door, nor perceived the entrance of Mrs. Llewellyn, 
until she stood in her deep mourning robes, tall, stately, 
and sternly beautiful before them. 

“ I had scarcely expected to see you at Kader Idris, Mr. 
Powis. Gladys, my love, retire to your own room. I must 
speak to this young man alone,” said the lady. 

Gladys, pale, silent, and trembling, arose to obey. But 
Arthur Powis also arose, clasped the hand of Gladys 


62 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYX. 


closely, bowed to Mrs. Llewellyn, and, standing before her, 
said : 

You can have nothing to say to me, madam, which may 
not be heard by my betrothed bride. Miss Llewell}^.” 

“ If Miss Llewellyn had any sense of propriety she would 
obey her aunt,” said the lady. 

“ Let me go, Arthur,” pleaded Gladys, trying to disen- 
gage her hand. 

“No, dearest, I cannot. For your owm sake, I dare 
not,” he replied, tightening his hold u]Don her. Then, turn- 
ing to Mrs. Llewellyn, he said : 

“ Cast your reproaches upon me, madam, since it is I 
who detain my promised wife beside me, that with me she 
may hear what explanation j’^ou have to give concerning 
these letters ; for it is of these letters, I presume, that you 
intend to speak,” said Arthur Fowls, laying his other hand 
firmly upon the two letters that still remained upon the 
table. He did this partly to indicate them and partly to 
keep them from her possession, for she had put out her 
hand as if to take them up. 

“ Yes ; it is of those letters that I wish to speak to you. 
But she has heard about them already. And it is a painful 
subject with which she need not be anno3"ed again. There- 
fore, to spare her feelings, I recommended that she should 
retire,” said the lad3^, calml3^ 

“Ah ! if consideration for her feelings, madam, was 3^our 
onl3’' motive for wishing her to withdraw, I have no more 
to say. I -will leave it to the 3"Oung lady herself. Gladys, 
my dearest, what do 3"OU say ?” 

> “ If my aunt does not mind, I would rather stay,” said 

the young girl. , 

“ You hear, madam. Fray proceed.” 

“ Very well, then. I will,” said the lady, advancing her 
hand again to take up the letters. 

“ If 3^ou please, madam, no ; excuse me; I cannot suffer 
these documents to pass out of my possession,” said Arthur 


THE B K I 1) E OF LLEWELLYN. 63 

Powis, as he took the letters up, folded them carefully, and 
stowed them securely in his breast pocket. 

^‘You are absurd,” said the lady, as she threw herself 
into a chair near the sofa and motioned Arthur and Gladys 
to resume their seats. “ You are very absurd. What good 
can the possession of those letters do you, unless, indeed, 
they could serve to remind you that your presence here is 
unexpected and unwelcome ; yes, and even forbidden.” 

“ I am here, madam, by arrangement, to keep an appoint- 
ment, to fulfil a contract,” said the young man, haughtily, 
never letting go the hand of Gladys, which he held firmly 
clasped in his own. 

“ Of what nature, may I ask 3^ou, sir ?” inquired the lady. 

As she spoke she looked at the 3"oung man, and he raised 
his head, and their eyes met as he answered her question. 
And though he spoke in a low tone, such, as she had used, 
and though the manner of both was calm, it was with the 
fearful calmness that precedes the bursting of the storm. 
The atmosphere in which they were seemed charged with 
death, and amid the awful stillness you could see the dark- 
ening of the sky and hear the muttering of the thunder. 

“ Miss Llewellyn is my promised bride ; we were be- 
trothed three years since, with the consent of both her 
parents ; our marriage was arranged to take place immedi- 
ately after my return from the voyage that is just now 
completed ; and I am here to claim my wife.” 

“ What proof have you to offer of the truth of these ridi- 
culous statements ?” sneered the lady. 

“ The word, madam, of a man whose honor has never 
been doubted ; and if that requires support, the corrobora- 
tive testimony of a young lady whose integrity is beyond 
question.” 

Humph ! the unsustained assertion of a pair of silly 
lovers'against the positive proof of General Llewellyn’s 
own handwriting.” 

“ ‘ General Llewelljm’s own handwriting ?’ ” repeated 


6i THE BRIDE OF L L E W E L L Y N. 

Arthur Powis, betraying the scorn that he could no longer 
conceal. “ Madam, show me General Llewellyn’s own 
handwriting, objecting to the consummation of my marriage 
■with Miss Llewellyn, and I will take my hat and leave this 
house, never to return to it.” 

“ If you will look at the letters that you have so jeal- 
ously concealed in your pocket you may see it for yourself.” 

“ Madam, neither myself nor Miss Llewelljm can accept 
those forgeries as the writing of General Llewellyn !” said 
Arthur Powis, resolutely. 

^'Forgeries, sir?” 

“Forgeries, madam.” 

“ You insult me, sir.” 

“ I have not even accused you, madam.” 

“ What do you mean, then, by saying that these letters 
are forgeries ?” 

“I mean just what I say !” 

There was a pause between them for a few minutes ; an 
armistice, during which the two belligerents glared at each 
other with looks of mutual hatred and defiance ; but still, in 
resuming the subject, neither of them raised their voices 
above the ordinary polite conversational tone. 

. “ How do you dare to make this assertion, sir ?” 

“ Because I know it to be true.” 

“ Pray how do you know it ?” 

“ From certain signs in the manuscript, that shall be 
pointed out at the proper time and place.” 

She turned a shade paler for a moment ; but quickly 
commanded herself and said : 

“ Listen to me, Mr. Powis, and when you have heard 
what I have to say to you — then repeat your calumnies, 
call those letters forgeries, at your own proper peril! Sir, 
I saw those letters written, signed, sealed, and delivered.” 

“Very likely, madam; but not by General Llewellyn!” 
said Arthur, sarcastically. 

“ Those letters were written, signed and sealed by General 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 6o 

Llewellyn, in my presence, and delivered by his hand into 
my hand to be sent to their destination,” said the lady, 
with resolute effrontery. 

Excuse me — let us be exact. You are sure that these 
are the very identical letters of which you speak ?” said 
Arthur Powis, drawing them from his pocket and display- 
ing them before her. 

^‘Yes.” 

“And you saw them written by Greneral Llewellyn 

“ Yes.” 

“And also signed by him ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then, madam, will you be so good as to explain how 
it happens that these signatures were first traced with a 
lead pencil, and afterward retraced with a pen and ink?” 

For a moment Mrs. Llewellyn’s self-possession forsook 
her ; and the lips were pale, and the voice was tremulous, 
with which she answered : 

“ It is not true ; they were not so traced.” 

“ I beg your pardon, madam, but the pencil marks are 
quite perceptible. Both Miss Llewellyn and myself no- 
ticed them.” 

By this the lady had had time to collect herself. With 
a derisive smile she answered ; 

“ Oh ! Ah I I recollect now. General Llewellyn wrote 
both letters, and intending to write something else in ad- 
dition to them before signing, laid them aside until he 
should feel stronger. Alas, he never did feel stronger, but 
fearing that death should overtake him before he could 
complete his task, he attempted to sign them, one morning, 
as he lay upon his bed too ill to rise. He found that he 
could not succeed with a pen and ink, and so he signed 
them both with a pencil. Afterward, when he was able to 
sit up, he retraced the signatures with pen and ink.” 

As Mrs. Llewellyn made this answer she looked full in 
the face of Arthur Powis, and their eyes again met. Her 
4 


CO T H E li R I D K OF T. Ti E W E L L Y N . 

were fall of derision, triumph, and defiance, as though 
she had said, “ Probe, search, investigate ! I am equal to 
the explanation of any ugly circumstances that you may 
please to discover.” His eyes were full of the fiery scorn 
that a noble nature feels for a base one. 

“ Madam, we understand each other. You know exactly 
what I think of the explanation you have given me. And 
I know how little you care what I may think of it, so long 
as it serves your own purpose. I have only this to say — 
that neither myself nor Miss Llewell}^! can accept those 
forgeries as genuine, or hold ourselves bound by them,” 
said Arthur Powis, firmly. 

The lady put her hand to the bell and rang a peal that 
presently brought Lemuel into the room, with a tray of 
refreshments in his hands and an excuse on his lips : 

“ I beg your pardon for bein’ so long, madam ; but dere 
was no sandwiches made, and de key ob de cellar was lost, 
and ” 

“ Set the tray down on the table and show Mr. Powis to 
the front door,” said the lady, sternl}^ 

But Lemuel was so amazed at this order that, instead 
of obeying it, he stood staring alternately at the old lady 
and the young man. 

“Never mind, Lemuel. I can find the door for myself 
when I am readj^ to go,” said Arthur Powis, laughing, and 
rising. 

“ My dear Gladys, I am here now ! Therefore keep up 
your spirits and be firm. As soon as I reach my lodgings 
at Standwell, I shall write to you, asking you to name an 
early day for our wedding. Think of it meantime, my 
dearest, so that you may be able to give me an answer at 
once ; for I shall not trust my letter to the post, Gladys, 
but I shall send it to you by a special messenger, who will 
wait for your reply,” said Arthur Powis, as he stooped over 
her hand and pressed it to his lips. 

“ Mr. Powis, I cannot allow that! You forget yourself, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


sir I I cannot sanction any communication between your- 
sel;f and my ward 1’’ said Mrs. Llewellyn, arrogantly. 

‘‘ My dear madam, your sanction, however desirable, is 
not absolutely necessary. I have had that of the parents 
of this young lad}^ whom I hope, before many days, to call 
my wife,” said Arthur. 

“ Sir, you never had the sanction of which you boast ; 
or, if you think you ever had it, you must now be assured 
that it has been rescinded by the letters in your possession. 
And as for your vain hope of calling Gladys Llewellyn 
your wife in the course of a few weeks, nothing could be 
more absurd. She is a minor, and wants three years yet 
to be of age. By the laws of this State a minor cannot 
legally marry without the consent of parent's or guardians. 
Her parents are dead. I am her sole guardian ; and I 
never will consent to her marriage with you, or to her hold- 
ing any sort of communication or correspondence with you. 
And now, sir, as our conference is at an end, I hope you 
will have the good taste to withdraw.” 

‘‘ Certainly, madam. Gladys, my own dear one, you will 
be firm and faithful ?” 

“ I will, Arthur ! Cost what it may, I will I” answered 
the young girl, in a resolute tone, though her face was pale 
with apprehension. 

“ Good-by, then ! May the Lord save and bless you, 
my own dear Gladys!” he said, pressing her hand once 
more to his lips. 

Then, with a low bow to the elder lady, he withdrew from 
tlie room. 

He had to wait outside until his horse was brought him. 

Just as he was getting into the saddle, Lemuel came 
'hurrying out of the house. 

‘‘Oh, Marse Arthur, sir, I just this minute done got 
away!” he exclaimed, breathlessly, running up to the 
horse-block. 

“ Good-by, Lemuel!” said the j^oung man, holding out 
his hand. 


68 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Oh, Marse Arthur, aint you got no other word nor that 
to say to a faithful servant said Lemuel, with a grie^ved 
look. 

“ Yes,” exclaimed Arthur Powis, impulsively. “ Y^es, 
Lemuel! I have a charge to give j'^ou! Watch over your 
young mistress I And if any thing goes wrong, bring me 
news of her directly.” 

That I will, Marse Arthur I” 

‘‘ I may trust you with this mission, Lemuel ?” 

“ That you may, Marse Arthur I Good as any misshum- 
merry as eber went out to de DebiPs Icy Peak !” 

“Very well, then. Good-by.” 

“ Good-by, and God bless you, Marse Arthur ! And 
hopes you will be coming back soon a triumphing I” said 
Lemuel, as the young man rode off. 

As soon as Arthur Powis rode into Standwell and up to 
the “ Rest,” as the principal hotel was called, he saw his 
horse put up, partook of a slight rej^ast, and had set out 
immediately for the office of Mr. Fardell, the principal law- 
yer of the town. 

He found the great man in ; but had to wait a long time 
in the outer office before he could obtain the private inter- 
view he sought. ■ 

At length, when he was closeted with the lawyer, in the 
little back office, he slipped a fee of fifty dollars in his hand 
and opened his business. 

He told Mr. Fardell the whole stoiy of his relations with 
the Llewellyn family ; his betrothal to Miss Llewellyn ; the 
time fixed for their marriage ; the will of General Llewell3m; 
the recent interference of Mrs. Jay Llewell^m ; and in brief 
all the circumstances with which we are already acquainted. 

He ended by laying the two letters before the lawyer, 
and calling his attention to the suspicious appearance of 
the signatures. 

“Now, sir, remembering all that I have told you, and 
looking upon these signatures, what do you think of them ?” 
inquired the young man. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


69 


They certainl}', taking all things into consideration, 
appear to be forgeries,” replied the lawyer. 

“ Sir, they are forgeries ! I know them to be forgeries ! 
But I wish also to know how I shall go to work to prove 
them to be forgeries ?” 

‘‘ In the first place, whom do you suspect?” 

“ Mrs. Jay Llewellyn, of course.” 

The lawyer slowly shook his head. 

What does that mean, Mr. Fardell ?” testily demanded 
the young man. 

“ Arthur, I might pocket your fee, and as many more on 
the back of that as you might choose to throw away on a 
hopeless cause. But I will not do so. You have not a 
particle of foundation to build a case upon. If you were 
to attempt to do so, your case would fall to the ground and 
overwhelm you with confusion,” said the law3^er, frankly. 

But the very suspicious circumstances, Mr. Fardell ?” 
asked the crestfallen youth. 

“Are on]y suspicious circumstances to j’ou and perhaps 
to me.” 

“But I am morally certain that these letters are for- 
geries, and that Mrs. Llewellyn is the forger.” 

“ Moral certainty is not convicting testimony, or many 
very highly respectable ladies and gentlemen would be use- 
fully employed in the penitentiaries, instead of lounging 
and idling in fashionable saloons and drawing-rooms,” said 
the lawyer, smiling. 

“ Then what shall I do in this matter ? This is what I 
^ant to know.” 

“ Do nothing at present. Above all, do not attempt to 
prosecute Mrs. Llewell}^ ; for, by so doing, 3^011 would only 
ruin yourself. You know that, whatever her real character 
may be, her general reputation is of the most unquestion- 
able description. My advice to you is just to do nothing ; 
but wait until the three years of the 3^011 ng lady’s minorit3' 
have passed, and then claim her promised hand. If she is 


70 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


constant, slie will then bestow herself and her fortune upon 
you. If she is not constant, you will make a happy escape.” 

“Good heaven, sir! how coolly you talk. ‘Wait,’ and 
‘three 3mars,’ and ‘if she is constant’ or ‘not constant!’” 
exclaimed the young man, with a shiver. 

“ Y^ou know I am not in love, Arthur ! But, really, that 
is the best advice I have to give you. ' And it shall cost 
you nothing. If, at any future time, you wish to consult 
me on this or any other topic, I shall be at your service. 
At present I am keeping a client waiting, with whom I 
have an appointment at this hour,” said the lawjmr, rising, 
and laying the fifty dollar bank-note before 3'oung Powis. 

Arthur took it up, thanked his old friend, bowed and left 
the office. 

He went back to his apartment at the Best, and threw 
himself into his chair to ruminate. 

He felt that he must abandon all idea of loosening Mrs. 
Llewellyn’s grasp upon Glad^^s by any legal prosecution. 
So far he must take the lawyer’s advice, but further than 
that he would not. He could not bear the disappointment 
of having his marriage put off at all. And the thought of 
waiting three long years for his bride almost drove him 
w'ild. And then the idea of leaving Gladys in the irrespon- 
sible power of that ruthless woman, filled him with horrible 
forebodings. 

“ She is so artful and unscrupulous, that she might even 
force or cheat my poor love into a marriage with her imbe- 
cile son !” said Arthur to himself, with a shudder. 

“ I will run aw^ay with her ! I will many her out of 
hand ! I am perfectly justified in doing so. And, more 
than that, I am honorably bound to do so. Her dear father 
and mother consented that our marriage should take place 
at this period ; and they left their orphan girl to m^’’ care. 
And shall I pause now, because of a couple of forged letters 
that I cannot 3^et prove to be forgeries? No!” cried the 
3'oung man, with energy. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 71 

• 

And he deliberately determined to marry Gladys in de- 
fiance of her false and treacherous guardian. His midship- 
man’s pay was but a small income ; but it would support 
two young persons in the early, inexpensive years of wed- 
lock ; and in the meantime he would be promoted. And at 
the end of three years Gladys would come into her property. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE ELOPEMENT. 

“Ere yet his boyhood’s years had flown, 

He gazed on her as some fair star, 

And wildly worshipped, as it shone 
Above his humble world afar. 

Then while he gazed and still adored 
On wilder wings wrapt fancy soju-ed. — Lemuyra. 

As soon as Arthur had left her, Gladys went to her own 
room, and shut herself up. 

How much she had lived in the last two days ! The let- 
ters from the dead ; the breaking oif of her marriage ; the 
return of her betrothed. All these events had crowded her 
life with a host of thoughts, feelings, and excitements that 
she could in no way bring into harmony. 

All was chaos. 

At one moment she was overwhelmed with grief and 
shame for her aunt’s treachery and crime, and the next 
filled with horror and remorse for her own sin and folly in 
daring to suspect that such a saint as Mrs. Llewellyn could 
do any wrong. Sometimes she resolved to disregard those 
questionable letters, and to be guided entirely by the wishes 
of Arthur Powis, as the approved choice of her parents, 
and as the only living being whom she could implicitly 
trust. At other times she shrank timidly from being in- 
fluenced by him at all, and sought to persuade herself that 
her only safety lay in obedience to the dictates of the letters. 


72 


THE BRIDE OF L L E W E L L Y 1^. 


•Restless through all this confusion of thought, she 
started up with the intention of going out for a ramble 
through the autumnal woods. 

But when she put her hand on the knob of her door, she 
found that it was locked on the outside. 

She was a prisoner in her own room ! 

Now, Gladys had a high spirit — her aunt called it a bad 
temper. 

Finding herself subjected to the insults and incon- 
Yenience of personal confinement and restraint, she flew to 
the bell and rang an angry peal, that presently brought 
her own maid running up in alarm to the door. Bessy 
tried it, found it fastened, and then knocked. 

“ Come in,” said Gladys, sharply. 

“ Please, Miss, I can’t open the door.” 

“ Isn’t the key on the other side ?” 

“ No, Miss.” 

“ Then go down to Mrs. Llewell}^, and give her my 
compliments, and say that I desire to see her here in my 
own room.” 

“ Yes, Miss,” said the girl, retreating. 

Ten minutes elapsed, and then the sound of soft foot- 
steps was heard approaching ; a key was placed in the lock 
and turned ; the door was opened ; and Mrs. Llewellyn 
entered, and carefully locked the door after her, and with- 
drew the key, and put it in her pocket. 

Gladys was standing in the middle of the room, with her 
slight figure drawn up to its j^roudest height, her cheeks 
flushed, her nostrils quivering, and her eyes blazing with 
indignation. 

Well, my love, you sent for me. What is your wish 
inquired the lady, calmly, sinking into an easy-chair. 

“ I wish to know, madam, what is the meaning of this 
insult that is offered to my father’s daughter?” demanded 
Gladys, turning upon her. 

“ What insult, my dear ?” co'^lly replied the lady, adjust- 
ing the ribbons that adorner'’ dress. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


73 


Gladys, speechless with rage, silently pointed to the 
locked door. 

“ Oh, if you mean that, I will tell you. Sit down, my 
dear — sit down. Do not stand there, burning, and quiver- 
ing, and palpitating, like a little bombshell ready to ex- 
plode. Sit down, while I answer your question.” 

“ I think, madam, that I will never sit down in the same 
room with you again ! And I tell you now, that if I ever 
had any saving doubt about the histor}^ of those letters, 
that doubt is removed by your conduct of to-day !” 

“ Gladys, how dare 3 ^ou ! What do you mean? Stand 
there, if you prefer to do so. The attitude is at least more 
respectful. But take care that you give me no insolence; I 
will not bear it !” said the lady, haughtily. 

“ Will you explain your conduct, madam ?” 

“ Certainly. I am your legal guardian, standing in the 
place of your deceased parents, holding a high trust ” 

“A trust that you have betrayed, madam! I can no 
longer be deceived on that point,” exclaimed Gladys, with 
flashing eyes. 

“ Silence, miss I Silence, this instant ! or I will teach 
3 ^ou not only by personal restraint, but by personal chas- 
tisement, that you are absolutely in my power, and bound 
to obey my will I I will leave you to reflect upon this with 
what profit you may, and when you are in a meeker mood 
I Avill come to you again,” said tlie lady, haughtily. 

And with these words she withdrew from the room,’ and 
locked the door behind, leaving Gladys transfixed with ^ 
amazement and burning with rage. 

“ Good heaven I” exclaimed the girl, starting, and rushing 
up and down the floor. “Am I awake, or is this a hideous, 
mocking dream ? What was that she dared to say ? Or 
could I have heard aright ? Did she threaten me — me with 

personal 1 Ah I the wretch 1 If she had laid the weight 

of her hand upon me I should have 1 I^ow I know how 

it is that people may be driven to ! To threaten me, 


74 : 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


me who w^as never degraded by a blow in all my childhood 
and infancy ! me whose person was always sacred from such 
violence even by my own mother and father and nurse I 

Heavens! if she had struck me, I should have ! Yes, 

I should have killed her 1 ” 

Suddenl3L as she said this in the transports of her rage, 
Gladys threw back her head. And as she did so, her ej^es 
fell upon a picture hanging above the mantel-piece. 

As she looked upon this picture she became perfectly 
still ; her face that was convulsed with rage grew calm ; the 
fire died out of her blazing cheeks ; tears filled her eyes. 

“ Heaven forgive me,” she softly breathed ; “ heaven for- 
give me. What am I, poor child of dust, that I should 
grow furious at the bare threat of an outrage that thou, the 
Son of God, didst bear without a murmur ? Oh, Saviour, 
by thine infinite love, give me a portion of tliine infinite 
meekness,” said Gladj^s, sinking on her knees and melting 
into tears. 

What was the picture that had moved Glad3's so deeply ? 
That had arrested her, in the very tempest and whirlpool 
of her passion, and had softened and subdued her, and 
brought her to her knees ? 

It was a simple engraving from the “ Ecce Homo” of 
Corregio. It represented our Saviour, bleeding from the 
recent scourging, crowned with thorns, and wu’apped in the 
mocking purple robe, at the moment Pilate presented him 
to the Jews, sa3dng — “Behold the man.” The artist had 
caught the spirit of the text, and the divine patience in that 
pictured face subdued the angiy passions of the beholder. 

AVheii Glad3"s arose from her kneeling posture, she sat 
down by the open window, and leaning her elbow on the 
sill, looked out upon the peaceful scenes of nature. Tinder 
her eyes lay the ornamental grounds immediately around 
Kader Idris ; and all glorious with rich autumnal fiowers 
blooming and glowing in the afternoon sunshine. Be3^ond 
them wound the Serpentine river, and beyond that arose the 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 75 

Alleghany Mountains ; and in the far distance towered the 
Peaks of Otto. 

vSoothed and strengthened by the peaceful beauty and 
majestic sublimity of the scene, Gladys sat ruminating far 
into the evening. She sat until the sun went down, firing 
the heavens and the earth with his retiring rays, until the 
western horizon, -with all its broken and prismatic clouds, 
blazed as with a general conflagration ; and everj^ mountain 
top and ever}^ forest tree, and every stream and river glowed 
rudd}' red beneath the glare. She sat until all this gorgeous- 
ness of coloring faded out and the moon arose, silver gild- 
ing all the scene, until all that had lately flamed like rubies 
in the sun, now mildly beamed like pearls beneath the moon. 

And still Gladys sat there, while her room grew dark. 
She did not ring for lights. She dreaded another interview 
with her aunt ; she dreaded another outbreak of her own 
temper ; and so she resolved to remain quiet as long as cir- 
cumstances would permit her to continue so. 

In truth, Gladys had a good deal to contend with — not 
only of external wrongs, but of evils in her own nature. 
She had come of a proud, passionate, overbearing race, who 
in their old ancestral country had been lords of the soil and 
masters of many vassals ; and in the country of their 
adoption had been planters and slaveholders for many gen- 
erations. All their circumstances had fostered a high, 
arrogant, despotic spirit. Gladj^s was of their blood, and 
at the slightest provocation this blood was apt to take fire. 
She had received a religious education ; but had been 
trained with the utmost tenderness and gentleness. She 
had never been subjected to harsh contradiction or to aii}^ 
thing approaching corporeal punishment, which latter she 
would have regarded as the deepest degradation. 

It is said that we know not of what spirit we are. Cer- 
tainly Gladys never knew until this day what spirit she 
was of. Never in her life before having been subjected to 
insult, she never knew the murderous wrath that lay latent 


76 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


in her own soul. And now that it had broken out and 
shown itself to her in all its hideous destructiveness, she 
was appalled. 

“Oh, heaven! I am no better, not a wdiit better than 
those who suffer death by law for their crimes !” she said 
to herself, with a shudder. 

While she sat thus, she heard the key turned in the lock, 
and looking up, saw Mrs. Llewellyn enter the room, fol- 
lowed by Bessy, bearing a tray with tea and cakes. 

Now apparently Mrs. Llewellyn herself had regretted her 
harshness to Gladj's, not because of its unkindness, but 
because of its bad policj^ For certainly it was her cue to 
retain the affection of this girl whom she wished to bend 
to her will. And to do this she must govern her as gently 
as possible. These considerations were not, hoTvever, strong 
enough to induce her to make any apology to Gladys ; but 
only to modify her manner to the poor girl. 

“ Draw that stand up to the side of Miss Llewellyn’s 
chair, and set the tea-tray on it. And then leave the room,” 
said the lady to the servant. 

And when this order w'as o.beyed and Bessy had left the 
room, Mrs. Llewellyn carefully locked the door behind her, 
and then seating herself beside her ward said, in a- grave 
and not unkind tone : 

“ Gladys, while you take 3"our tea, I will tell you the 
reasons that have induced — I may say compelled me, un- 
willingly, to subject 3"Ou to this temporary restraint.” 

“ I should be glad to know them, madam,” said the young 
girl. 

“ And I hope that you will listen to them without giving 
way to the unbecoming anger that betrayed you into much 
injustice, nor to say gross impropriety of word and manner, 
toward myself.” 

Gladys glanced up at the pictured face over the mantel- 
piece, and answered : ^ 

“ For all the wrong that I may have been led into. Aunt 


THE BRIDE OF L L B W E L L Y X‘. 


77 


Llewellyn, I beg your pardon, and that of the Lord. I 
alwaj^s knew that anger was sinful, but when I think of 
our Saviour’s example of patience, I feel that it is inex- 
cusable.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so. Now drink your tea, 
while I tell you why I deem it right to keep you under 
some temporary restraint.” 

At these last words the girl’s cheeks flushed and her 
eyes flashed again, but she controlled herself and remained 
silent, while Mrs. Llewellyn proceeded : 

“ Gladys, I began by saying to you that I stand in the 
relation of a parent toward you during your minority. I 
consider that relation a holy trust, which I have not be- 
trayed, although you have charged me with having done 
so.” 

“ I beg your pardon if I have wronged you. Aunt 
Llewellyn. ” 

“ That is understood ! Holding the relation I do toward 
you, and feeling a deep responsibility for the trust, I must 
consider your welfare and happiness the paramount objects 
of my life. To secure those objects I must separate you 
from that dangerous young man whose influence over you 
I have every reason to dread. The only way in which I 
can do this is to seclude you in your own room during the 
stay of this young man in the neighborhood. In doing 
this, I am sure that I do but carry out the views and in- 
tentions of your father. I shall make this transient se- 
clusion as happy as the circumstances will permit. You 
shall have your music, books, birds, flowers — in short, all 
that you require for instruction or amusement, removed 
into this room. And as soon as I feel assured that Arthur 
Powis has rejoined his ship, your restraint shall be at an 
end. Now, Gladys, I hope that you understand me?” 

“ I think I do. Aunt Llewellyn.” 

“And I trust that you will submit cheerfully to this 
arrangement.” 


78 


T HE R ^ 1) E OF L L K W E L L Y X . 


I trust in the Lord that I shall be led to do right,” said 
Gladys, pressing her fingers together in the earnestness of 
her feelings. 

After a little more conversation the lady rang the bell, 
and ordered the servant who answered it to take away the 
tea-service. 

Then she bade Gladys good-night, locked her in, and 
went down stairs. 

“ What is right ?” inquired the perplexed girl of herself, 
when she was left alone. “ What is right ? Ought I really 
go so far as to give up Arthur ? Oh, no, no, no, no ! I 
could not do that if I would, and would not if I could. He 
was my mother’s and my father’s choice, as well as my own. 
I am sure of it. No ; I will not give him up. I will try 
and control my temper ; I will treat Aunt Llewellyn re- 
spectfully, and will not give her revilings for revilings. 
But — I will be faithful to my love !” 

Half that night Gladys sat at that window, gazing 
dreamily out into the starlit night. When, at length, she 
went to bed, worn out with excitement, she slept well until 
morning. 

The next day, according to her promise, Mrs. Llewellyn 
sent into Gladys’ room everj’- thing that could be supposed 
to render the girl’s captivity endurable. 

But Gladys could not fix her attention, upon any one 
thing. Needle-work, music, drawing and reading were 
tried successively, and tried in vain. She spent her time 
in walking restlessl}^ about the floor or gazing from the 
window, and in longing to communicate in some waj" with 
Arthur, and in wondering when that desire would be 
gratified. 

On the second day she grew more weary and anxious 
than ever; and she walked about less, and sat looking from 
the window longer. As she sat there, late in the afternoon, 
she saw Lemuel with the wooden rake raking up the dried 
leaves that were lying in heaps upon the lawn. 


T II K B R I B i: 0 F L-T. E W E L B Y X . 


79 


She tapped upon the window-pane until she had attracted 
his attention, and then threw up the sash and spoke to 
him : 

“ Hist, Lemuel I look up here I” 

After the manner of hi^ kind, Lemuel looked all around 
the horizon, and then up into the tops of the trees, and 
everywhere else but at the right place. 

“ Here, Lemuel ! up here I” cried Gladys, in a tone eager 
from anxiety, and half-suppressed from the fear of being 
lieard by others than the one to whom she spoke. 

Lemuel looked up to the top of the chimnies, and, seeing 
no one there, brought his eyes down to the level of the 
second-floor windows, where they encountered the anxious 
gaze of Miss Llewell3m. 

“ Laws, Miss Glad3^s !” 

“ Hush, Lem, or speak very low I Is there an3^ one 
within sight or hearing?” 

“ Laws, no. Miss Glad3"s — not a single soul in dese here 
parts of de grounds I” 

“ How came you here ?” 

“ Why, you see. Miss Gadys, de madam done took me 
off de hall-door and put dat misable deaf-and-dumb devil — 
begging your pardon, miss ; begging your pardon humble 
for using bad words, but he is a devil — Jude, dere in my 
place, which is perfectly widiculous, ’cause he can’t hear, 
nor likewise speak a word, but only make signs, or take in 
a card, or shake his head and refuse to take it in. So what 
de use of putting he dere ?” 

“ I suppose Mrs. Llewellyn had some reason for doing it. 
And so your duties are changed?” 

“Yes, miss ; and I is ’lieved of my command in de hall, 
and ’signed to de department ob de ornamental gardening.” 

“ Ho you like gardening as well as waiting ?” 

“Well, miss, to me personable it don’t make much 
dif ’ence. Wot I ’siders is de wisitors.” 

“ Yes ! Come here, Lem. Come closer. I have some- 
thing particular to say to 3^011.” 


80 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


The boy came, dragging his rake behind him, and stood 
immediately under the window from which Gladys leaned. 

“Lem,” whispered Gladys, “have you seen Mr. Powis 
since the day before yesterday 

“jS’o, miss.” 

“ Have you heard of any letter that has been left here for 
me?” 

“ Yes, miss ; de berry same morning — which it was 
yes’day morning as I ’lieved from duty in de hall — and 
just afore I was so ’lieved comes up a messenger on hoss- 
back from Stand well, as he said, and ’quires for you, sa3dng 
as he has a letter which he must put into your hands spe- 
cial. And I was just a gwine to look for you when de 
madam came out and axed the messenger what he wanted. 
And the messenger told her that he wanted to put a letter 
into Miss Llewell^m’s own hands. De madam told him 
how she wouldn’t ’mit of him giving no letter, and so she 
ordered him offen de premises.” 

“ I thought as much. I really did. Lemuel, that letter 
was from Mr. Powis.” 

“ So I s’picioned, miss.” 

“And 3"0u know he had a perfect right to send me a 
letter.” 

“ In course I does. Didn’t ole marse tell all we colloired 
folks how you and Marse Arthur was engaged to be mar- 
ried, and how us was to ’sider him and look up to him as 
our futur’ marster ?” 

“ Yes, I know; and I wish your testimony to that effect 
could be taken in the courts, Lemuel ; for it would save us 
from a great deal of distress. But it cannot, and so there is 
an end of that. But, at any rate, you know, Lemuel, that 
Mr. Powis has a perfect right to send me a letter, and no 
one has a right to intercept it?” 

“In course I does. Miss Gladys.” 

“But the letter he wrote me, which was a very important 
one, for which I have been anxiously waiting for the last 


T H K B R I I) K OF L L E W E L L Y N . 


81 


two days, has been stopped and sent back. And I have no 
writing materials at hand, or I would write to Mr. Powis, 
and send the note by you. But you can take a message for 
me, Lemuel?” 

“ Sartain I can. Miss Gladys. ’Cause whj^? Why, ’cause 
I feels bounden to ’bey you ’fore any body else on dis 
’state ; for, no matter who has de power, you has de right 
to give orders here.” 

“ Unfortunately, I have no right to give orders, and shall 
have none for three years to come ; but never mind about 
that now, Lemuel. And neither do I wish you to neglect 
any task Mrs. Llewellyn has given you, to do SLuy thing for 
me. But after your day’s work is done, Lemuel, you have 
some time to yourself, and I ask you onty as a favor to take 
a message for me then.” 

‘‘ Why, Miss Gladys, de werry greatest favor and honor 
and kindness as you could do me would be to set me to 
work for you in any way in dis world. And soon’s ebber 
de sun sets I shall be done my day’s task and at your sar- 
vice, miss.” 

‘‘Very well, Lemuel; come to me, then,” said Gladys, 
drawing in her head and letting down the sash. 

Lemuel resumed his work. 

Gladys seated herself at the window to wait until the sun- 
set hour released the boy from his day’s work. 

Blood red and shorn of all his rays, in the dull autumnal 
mist, the sun went down that fatal night. No sooner had 
that great red globe of fire dropped out of sight below the 
horizon than Lemuel threw down his rake and presented 
himself under the window. 

Gladys again threw up the sash and looked out. 

Lemuel, are you quite alone out there ?” she asked. 

“Quite, Miss Gladys. No one anywheres nigh.” 

“ Listen, then. This is the message you must take to Mr. 
Powis. But stop — do you know where to find him ?” 

“ Oh, yes, miss, at the Rest Hotel in Standwell.” 

5 


82 


THE BRIDE OF L L E W E L L Y N. 


“ Right. Well, then, tell Mr. Powis that I did not get 
his letter, and tell him why I did not get it — though I sup^ 
pose he knows all that already from the report of his mes- 
senger.” 

“Yes, miss.” 

“ Tell him also that I am compelled to send 3^ou to him 
because I have no other means of communicating with him.” 

“Oh, Miss Gladj^s, that’s all right! Marse Arthur, 
when he left here t’other day, give me commission, so he 
did, to watch over you, miss, and bring him news of 3'ou 
whenever I could.” 

. “ Mr. Powis did that, Lemuel ?” 

“ ’Deed, miss, he did ; but I haint had no news to go to 
him with by reason of not seeing 3"Ou until this evening.” 

“ My poor Arthur I” murmured Gladys to herself. Then 
speaking aloud — “ Tell him, Lemuel, that I would write to 
him, only that I am a prisoner in my own room and de- 
prived of wanting materials.” 

“A prisoner in j'our own room !” exclaimed Lemuel, 
opening his mouth and eyes in consternation. 

“Why, 3^es, Lemuel. I thought ^^ou knew that.” 

“Me know it! No, Miss Gladj^s, none of us colored 
folks don’t know it ! Leastwa3^s none of us outen de house ; 
less you might be sure w'e wouldn’t stand it — no, not one 
minute ! What ! we know our marster’s onliest darter, wdio 
is de rightful queen and mist’ess ober ebery thing and 
eber3dood3^ here, kept a prisoner in her own room by a inter- 
oper like de madam! And we put up wid it? No, Miss 
Glad3’s ! We’d done raised a resurrection for dis and 
busted open ebeiy door in de house to deliber you ! And 
we’ll do it 3^et ’fore two hours is ober our heads 1” exelaimed 
the lo3^al negro, with all his hot African blood boiling at 
the outrage that had been inflicted on his young lady. 

“Hush, Lemuel! Are 3^011 going craz3’- and going to 
break the laws and all that ? Why, 3^00 would 01113’^ get 
yourselves and me into greater trouble. Mrs. Llewoll3ai is 
my legal guardian and the law is on her side,” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


83 


“ If de law is on her side, de law is a grand vilyiin i And 
we wont submit to it. We’ll be true to 3^ou, Miss Gladys. 
You’s our young lady. And we’s your people. And we’ll 
hab you out o’ dat, or die for it I” said the boy, with a gasp 
and a sob. 

“ Well, so you shall have me out, but not by violence. 
You will obey me, I hope, Lemuel, if I am a helpless pris- 
oner here ?” 

“Wont I? And wont I obey you ten times more sub- 
missive because you is so ?” sobbed the boy. 

“ Well, then, Lemuel, do not attempt any rebellion against 
Mrs. Llewell3m’s authority. But go quietly, and without 
saying a word to any other jDerson, to Mr. Powis, and tell 
him all that I have told you. And wait to see what he 
himself proposes. No doubt he will do all that is right. 
Now go, like a good lad, while you have an opportunity.” 

“ I’ll go ; yes. I’ll go. But if Marse Arthur don’t find a 
way of getting you outen dis here place afore to-morrow 
night, I hopes and trusts as you wont try to ’vent me of 
doing it ; ’cause if you did, my heart would bust. Miss 
Glad3^s,” said Lemuel, wiping his e3ms with the sleeves of 
his jacket. 

“Mr. Arthur will be sure to find away. Never fear, 
Lemuel. Go on, now, and make haste.” 

“ I’m agoing, Miss Gladys,” said Lemuel, with a finishing 
sob and an awkward bow, as he turned his back upon the 
house. 

And Gladys closed the window and sat down beside it, 
half frightened by the step she had taken, to await the issue. 

“ It will take Lemuel an hour to get to Stand well, and 
Arthur another hour to write me a long letter, and then 
Lem a third hour to get back. It is now about five o’clock. 
It will be eight before he returns. How long to wait I” 
sighed Glad3^s, to whose impatient heart the three hours 
seemed three years. 

At six o’clock Mrs. Llewellyn came in, attended by 


84 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Bessy, bringing Miss Llewellyn’s tea. The elder lady al- 
ways W'as present on these occasions to prevent any com- 
munication between the young lady and her maid. 

After a poor pretence of taking tea, Gladys pushed the 
waiter from her ; and Mrs. Llewellyn bade the young girl 
good-night, and left the room, followed by Bessy with the 
tea-service. And Gladys was locked up for the night. 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE FLIGHT OF GLADYS. 

How beautiful she looked, her conscious heart 
Glowed on her cheek, and yet she felt no wrong. 

Oh love, how perfect thy majestic art! 

Strengthening the weak and trampling on the strong; 

How self-deceitful is the sagest part 

Of mortals whom thy lure hath led along. — Byron. 

The last two days had been passed by Arthur Powis in 
the most intense anxiety. Twice he had been to Kader 
Idris, trying to see, or hear from, or in some way commu- 
nicate with Gladys. On both occasions he had been ingen- 
iously frustrated by the arts of Mrs. Llewellyn, and had 
returned to his hotel, bitterly disappointed. 

On this, the evening of the second day, he was sitting in 
his room, engaged in writing a second long letter to 
Gladys, in which he proposed their speedy marriage, and 
which he hoped to find some opportunity of sending to her, 
when there came a rap at the door, followed almost imme- 
diately by the entrance of Lemuel. 

“ Well, boy ! Well ! what news do you bring me ? How 
is your young lady? How is Miss Llewellyn?” exclaimed 
Arthur Powis, starting up to meet the messenger, and hur- 
r3dng question upon question in his eagerness for intelli- 
gence of Gladv's. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


85 


“Yes, sir; I bring you a message from Miss Gladys; 
which the old madam, she’s been and locked her up in her 
room, and wont allow her no paper nor likewise pen nor ink 
to write to you with ” 

“ What ! Locked whom up ?” cried Arthur Powis, cut- 
ting the negro short in his story, 

“ Miss Gladys, sir; which the old madam has locked her 
up in her own room, and wont allow her no paper, nor like- 
wise ” 

“Boy! do you pretend to tell me that that woman has 
dared to turn a key upon Miss Llewellyn?” exclaimed the 
young man, with suppressed fury. 

“Well, sir, I can’t say positive whether it was a kej^ or a 
bolt, or it might even be a bar, but she is fastened in, and 
there has been for the last two days — without paper and 
likewise without ” 

“ Heaven, and earth I If ever I have that woman in my 
power, nothing in this world shall induce me to spare her — 
not even consideration for her sex ! Dared to imprison 
Gladys 1” cried Arthur, stamping. 

“Yes, sir ; without paper and likewise pen and ink, which 
is the reason why as Miss Gladys didn’t write ; but trusted 
me long of a worded message ” 

“A verbal message — what was it?” 

“ What I just been a telling of you, sir — how she is ’fined 
into her own room, without paper and likewise ” 

“Was there no other word she sent me ? You told me 
that before. What else did she say ?” anxiously interriupted 
Arthur. \ • 

“No, sir ; dat was all the message she sent to you ; but 
she obserbed to me as how you would know what to ad wise, 
and how I must wait here to take your orders ; and then 
get back as soon as I possible could. Oh ! I ought for to 
tell you, sir, as Miss Gladys knows de reason why she didn’t 
’ceive de letter as you sent the day before yes’day.” 

“ Yes ? She knows that I wrote to her very promptly ; 


86 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


but that the letter was stopped at the door and sent back to 
me ? She knows that 

“ Yes, sir ; ’cause I was on de spot and saw it done, and 
I telle d her.” 

V I thank you, Lemuel ; I thank you very much, my 
faithful fellow ; but how did you contrive to speak to Miss 
Llewellyn ?” 

“ It were prowidential, sir ! De madam she ’lieved me 
of duty at de hall door, fear I should be passiu’ of letters 
or messages back’ards and for’ards, I s’pose ; and put dat 
deaf and dumb Jude dere ; and ’signed me to de depart- 
ment ob de ornamential gardening, which I was raking up 
de dry leaves on the lawn underneaf of de west windows, 
when Miss Gladys saw me and spoke to me, and sent dis 
message to you.” 

“ Thank you, Lemuel ! Thank 3 "ou again, m^^ good fel- 
low ! Wait! wait 1” said Mr. Powis, walking up and down 
the floor, with his hand upon his brow, as in perplexed 
thought. 

The black boy backed to the door and leaned against it, 
resting while he waited. 

Arthur Powis, after walking a few paces up and down 
the room, sat down at his writing-table and added a post- 
script to the letter which had been interrupted by the arrival 
of Lemuel. 

Boy, can j^ou And an}^ means of getting this into the 
hands of your young lady ?” he inquired, as he folded and 
sealed the letter. 

‘‘Yes, sir.” 

“Are you certain?” repeated Arthur, rising from the 
-table. 

“ Sartain sure, sir.” 

“ How will you manage it ?” 

“ Wh^q Miss Llewellyn will be a watching for me ; and 
when I go under her window I will ax her to let down a 
string, and I will tie the letter to the end of it so as she 
can draw it up.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 87 

“And if she has not got a string 

“ Why then I can climb up to the window with a little 
trouble and hand it to her.” 

“ Very gx)od. And now, Lemuel, tell me, is there a 

But stop I You are faithful to your young lady ?” 

“ Oh, sir ! faithful to her as I am to my Lord and Mars- 
ter in hebben !” said the black boy, fervently. 

“ Yes ; I am sure you are I I should not have doubted 
it for an instant. And indeed I did not doubt it, my boy ! 
I only hesitated a moment.” 

Well, sir, what was you agoing for to ax me ? You 
said. Is there a ? and you stopped.” 

Is there a light, strong, safe ladder about the premises 
at Kader Idris that would reach from the ground to Miss 
Llewellyn’s window?” 

‘‘Yes, sir, lots of ’em.” 

“ Could you convey one secretly to the spot ?” 

“ Sartain sure, sir !” 

“ Then that is all that I shall require of you at present, 
Lemuel. I must trust to your tact and discretion to get 
this letter into the hands of Miss Llewellyn, and the ladder 
at the spot, safely and secretly.” 

“ Yes, sir ; I wish it was as easy for everybody to get to 
hebben as it is for me to do all dat !” said the black boy, 
taking his old felt hat up from the floor. 

“ Very well, then. Lose no time in getting back, Lem.” 

The faithful fellow ducked his head and disappeared. 

After Mrs. Llewellyn had left her, Gladys remained sit- 
ting at the open window, looking out into the night, and 
waiting for the return of her messenger. 

“ Two hours yet,” murmured the girl to herself — “ two 
long hours must pass before he can get back ; but I will be 
l^atient.” 

Slowly and heavily passed those two hours to the lonely 
captive. Her room was far removed from the inhabited 
portions of the house. The family were all within doors, 


88 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN-. 


ensfaored in their evening avocations or amusements. The 
lawn was deserted, and there was not a sound to disturb 
the silence of the night except the chirp of innumerable 
insects, whose tiny, shrill notes seemed only to make the 
solitude more lonely. The night sky, studded with stars 
above her head ; the changing foliage, alive with chirping 
insects beneath ; these were all she saw or heard from her 
post of observation. 

Seven struck from the ormolu clock on the mantel-shelf. 

‘‘ One more dreary hour — how" long ! how long it seems !” 
sighed Gladys, dropping her tired head upon her hand as 
she leaned on the window-sill. 

A bat flew through the open sash into her room, and 
frightened her ; and after beating itself wildly about from 
wall to wall, struck itself sharply against the marble man- 
tel-piece and fell dead on the floor. 

Gladys started with a shudder, picked it up and threw 
it out, and sat down again, trembling, and almost hysteri- 
cal through solitude and suspense. 

But half the hour had gone, when she heard the sound 
of a cautious step softly crushing the fallen leaves under 
her wdndow. 

She leaned out. 

Hsh — ” whispered a voice below. 

‘‘ Is that you, Lemuel she inquired. 

It aint nobody else. Miss Gladys.” 

“ Good boy ! you have got back sooner than I expected.” 

“I run nearly all the wa}' there and back. Miss.” 

“ Good lad ! Lemuel, I will reward you well when I 
come into my property. Did you see ” 

“ Oh, Miss, I don’t want no rewards but the pleasure of 
serving you.” 

“ Thank you, Lemuel ; but never mind that now. I 
asked you did you see Mr. Powis ?” 

“That I did, miss; and I telled him eberyting, and he 
guv me a letter to bring 3'ou, as I suppose will explain 
eberyting else.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


89 


“ Ob, Lemuel, how will you get it up to me ?’ exclaimed 
Gladys, eagerly. 

“ Has you got sicli a article as a string, miss 

‘‘ Yes — no — yes : will a ver}^ slender one do 

“ If it is strong enough to hold a letter, miss.” 

Gladys flew about the room almost as wildly as the bat 
that had beaten itself to death had done, and at last found 
her crochet work ; she broke off the thread, and taking one 
end of it in her hand, threw the ball out of the window, 
saying : 

“ Tie the letter to that, Lemuel, and I will draw it up.” 

The black boy obeyed as well as his clumsy fingers would 
permit him to do, and in three minutes Gladys had her 
lover’s letter in her hand. 

“Wait outside until I have read it, Lemuel,” she said, 
closing the window, and drawing the curtain before striking 
a light. 

Then she eagerly broke the seal and began to devour the 
contents of the letter. The body of that letter was but the 
usual ardent, eloquent effusion of youthful love, and need 
not be repeated here. But the postscript explained that 
the writer would follow the letter within an hour. 

Hastily folding it up, Gladys went and opened the win- 
dow, and called cautiously to her servant : 

“ Ijemuel, Mr. Powis will be here presently. Keep a 
bright look-out, lest any one else should be in the way to 
discover him. And if you see any one near when he is 
coming, slip away and warn him.” 

“You may trust me for that. Miss Gladys.” 

An hour passed, and the stillness of the night grew deeper. 

And then a firm, light step was heard approaching, and 
the next moment the voice of Arthur sounded, speaking 
beneath the window : 

“All well here, Lemuel?” 

“All well, sir; nobod}^ about but Miss Gladys, ’sides us, 
and she awaiting at de window, still as a mouse.” 


90 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“Gladys, mine own!” whispered the j-oiing man, look- 
ing up. 

“Yes, Arthur — I am here,” she answered, leaning out. 

“Heaven bless you, my dearest! Wait a moment, Gla- 
dys,” said the young man. Then turning to Lemuel, he 
whispered : 

“ Have you brought the ladder ?” 

“ Not yet, sir. It was too soon to venter when I first got 
back, ’cause I might have met some of de hands ; and ’sides 
which. Miss Gladys ordered of me to watch here to keep de 
coast clear, or leastwise to warn you if anybody was near 
wLen I see you a-coming.” 

“Yes; that was quite right; but I hope now that you 
can get the ladder without any further delay.” 

“ Oh, 5"es, Marse Arthur ! now, this minute, sir,” said the 
black boy, hurrying off. 

As soon as the servant was gone, Arthur Powis climbed 
upon the sill of the drawing-room window, and holding by 
the cornice, said : 

“ Gladys, my love, lean down here.” 

She did so, almost at the risk of losing her balance and 
falling to the ground. 

“ Gladj- s, my dearest, you must trust yourself to me to- 
night, and henceforth, forever !” he said. 

“ Oh, Arthur, what do j^ou mean ?” she asked, trembling 
with alarm. 

“ You must give me a legal right to protect you.” 

“ Oh, Arthur ” 

“ Gladys, my darling, you must be my wife.” 

“ Some day — some day — if I live, you know I will, Arthur.” 

“ Gladys, you must be my wife within twenty-four hours 
from this ! And to effect this, Gladys, you must leave this - 
place with me to-night,” said the j'oung man, firmly. 

“An elopement ! is that what you propose to me ? Oh, 
Arthur ! I never, never can consent to such a i)roceeding,’' 
exclaimed the agitated girl. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


91 


“ Gladys, you will consent to it within the next half hour 
■ — that is, if you love me, and if you are reasonable. 
Gladys, darling, listen to me. The time has already arrived 
which was fixed for our marriage by your dear deceased 
parents. If they were living, our marriage would take 
place ; for it was the settled purpose of their hearts that it 
should. But that purpose has been frustrated by the 
treachery of the guardian they appointed to take charge of 
you. And your property, your peace, and even your person 
is exposed to imminent danger so long as you remain in the 
power of that false and ruthless woman. You must escape 
with me to-night !” 

“ But, oh, Arthur ! — to leave my home secretly and by 
night — to steal away in the darkness like a guilty and 
cowardly creature — I cannot ! I like to be straightforward 
and above board in all I do !” 

“ So do I exclaimed the 5^oung man, earnestly ; “ so do 
I, in almost all cases. But there are cases in which one 
cannot be straightforward and above board. And this is 
one of them. We have no power to unmask and punish 
Mrs. Jay’s treachery and forgery. So we must escape ruin 
from both by stratagem. We have no power to deliver you 
by force; so we must do it by stealth.” * 

“ Oh ! I wish I knew what was right,” sobbed the girl. 

“ Gladys, I will put you in the way of finding out. Sup- 
posing your dear father and mother, looking down from 
their blest abode upon their orphan child in her captivity 
and wretchedness, and knowing all the circumstances, 
could advise her — what do you suppose in such a case their 
advice would be ? Would they counsel her to stay here in 
the power of that bad woman and exposed to all her arts, 
or would they advise her to escape to the protection of one 
whom they themselves had accepted as her husband ? 
Speak, Gladys !” 

These questions seemed to strike the young girl very 
forcibly. She dropped her head upon her hand, and ap- 
peared to reflect very deeply. 


92 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Speak, Gladys !” once more implored the youth. 

“ I think — I really do think that they would rather that 
I should go with you than remain here, and suffer all I do. 
and risk all I shall. I know my dear papa regretted that 
we could not he married before he died, so that he could 
leave me in trustworthy hands,” said Gladys, slowly and 
thoughtfully. 

“ Then he did not trust Mrs. Llewellyn?” 

He never expressed any rZfstrust of her ; and certainly, 
the fact of his making her the guardian of his daughter and 
the trustee of the estate, would go to prove that he placed 
the greatest confidence in her. Yet for all that, I think 
there were times when he instinctwelij distrusted her; but 
as it seemed against all evidence and all reason, he strug- 
gled against that distrust, and acted in defiance of it.” 

“Fatally! Well, Gladys, my dear, you must now do 
wdiat you believe your father and mother would approve of 
5'Our doing in the extremity to which you are reduced. I 
see Lemuel ai^proaching with the means of your escape. 
Get yourself ready, my dearest one, and in a few minutes 
you shall be free.” 

Saying this, Arthur Powis dropped off the window-sill, 
and turned to meet Lemuel, who had just arrived with the 
ladder. 

They adjusted it to the window. 

In a few minutes Gladys appeared at the top, arrayed 
for her departure ; but looked down and hesitated, timidl}^ 

“ Do not attempt the descent alone, my dearest. Lem- 
uel, steady the ladder, while I go up I” exclaimed the 3^oung 
man, as he ran up. 

As Gladys, wdth her hand in his, still hesitated, he took 
her up gently in his arms, and brought her down carefully, 
and set her upon the ground safely. 

“ Now, love, you are free I Lean on my arm, and let us 
hurry from this place,” he exclaimed, drawing her arm 
within his own, and walking away at a rapid pace. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


98 


“ Good-by, Lemuel ! Good-by, dear, good Lemuel I’’ 
said Gladys, thoughtful, even in this exciting moment, of 
the feelings of her humblest slave. 

“ Oh, yes I good-by, Lemuel ! Call next week at the 
Rest, and ask for a parcel that I will send to you there ! 
It shall be a handsome present, Lemuel !” exclaimed the 
young man, suddenly recollecting his indebtedness to the 
black boy. 

I don’t want no presents, I am much obliged to you, 
sir ; leastways not for this. Good-by, Miss Gladys ! The 
Lord bless you, miss ! And he will, too.” And the black 
boy threw himself sobbing upon the ground. And the 
fugitives pursued their flight. 

“ You have something there under your shawl, dearest. 
Give it to me to carry,” said Arthur, as they hurried along. 

“It is only a leather travelling-bag,” said Gladys, pro- 
ducing it. 

A good heavy one it was, as Arthur found when he smil- 
ingly took it from her. 

They hastened on through the ornamental grounds ; 
through the kitchen gardens ; through the vineyards ; 
through the orchards ; through a meadow ; and then came 
out upon a by-road, where, under the thidi shade of some 
evergreen trees, stood a carriage and horse. 

There was no driver, and the horse was tied to a tree. 

“ Get in, my dearest,” said Arthur, carefully putting 
Gladys into a back seat, and setting the carpet-bag at her 
feet. 

Then he untied the horse, jumped in and took his place 
by her side, and set off at a brisk trot. 

“ Oh, Arthur I” cried Gladys, dropping her head upon his 
shoulder, “ I am so terrifled and so ashamed !” And she 
burst into tears. 

“ Think of your dear father, Gladys. Think of your 
painted mother, my love ! Think how they would approve 
this step that you are taking ! And have courage and com- 


94 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


fort, my clearest,’^ said Arthur Powis, gently caressing 
her. 

But the road that was bad at all times, was worse at 
night, insomuch as it was then really dangerous to travel. 
And so Arthur was obliged soon to leave off caressing and 
comforting his bride elect, and was compelled to give his 
whole attention to the duty of driving and guiding the 
horse through the perils of the way. And Gladys sobbed 
quietly in the corner of the back seat. Suddenly she broke 
forth again : 

“ Oh, Arthur, where are you taking me ? I had not even 
sense or recollection enough left to ask you that before.’’ 

“ To the nearest point, my dear girl, where we can be 
united.” 

“But, oh, Arthur!” she exclaimed, with a shudder, “it 
has just occurred to me ” 

“ What has just occurred to you, mine own ?” 

“We must go back! I must give myself up again to 
Mrs. Jay !” * 

“ Gladys ! !” 

“I must, Arthur! Indeed, I must!” she exclaimed, lay- 
ing violently hold of his arm to prevent his driving on. 

The horse began to rear and plunge, and back amid the 
holes and gullies and precipices of the mountain road. 

“ Gladys, you are mad ! You will get your neck broken !” 

“ Better have my neck broken than to go on !” wildly 
exclaimed the girl. 

“ You are mad !” cried Arthur, springing from the car- 
riage and taking the ungovernable horse by the head. 

' When the startled animal was reduced to order, and the 
carriage stood still, Arthur, holding the horse’s head, said : 

“Now, Gladys, what is all this? Why do 3^ou wish to 
return ?” 

“ Oh, Arthur, I must ! I must ! indeed I must return ! 
You never would take me away against my will !” exclaimed 
the girl, in wild affright. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 95 

“ Certainly not I’’ answered the young man, bitterly ; 

but I ask you why you have so suddenly changed your 
mind ? I have a right to know that, Gladys, before I turn 
back with you.” 

“Oh, yes, yes; it was because I recollected something I 
Something of the utmost importance ! Oh I I must have 
been mad indeed, ever to have forgotten it I” 

“ What, Gladys ! what ?” 

“ Oh, that we could not be legally married without the 
consent of my guardian while I am a minor !” 

“ Is that what troubles you, Gladys ?” inquired the young 
man, in astonishment. 

“ Oh, yes, yes I what a fatal thing it would have been if I 
had not remembered it in time !” exclaimed the girl, wring- 
ing her hands. 

“ Dismiss your fears, Gladys ! All is right ; or it will be 
so,” said the young, man, calmly, resuming his seat by her 
side, taking the reins and driving on. 

“ What is all right ? How can it be all right ? Arthur I 
you must not proceed !” she exclaimed, again attempting to 
seize the reins. 

“ Gladys, my dearest, I can neither permit you to break 
your neck, nor to return to your prison, nor to do yourself 
any other fatal injury. Listen to me,” he said, holding her 
hand so firmly, and speaking so resolutely, that she was 
constrained to attend. 

“ What do you mean ? You would never take an unfair 
advantage of this step that I have taken ? JSTo, I know you 
would not,” she whispered. 

“ Heaven knows that I would not.” 

“ What, then, do you mean ? We cannot be legally mar- 
ried without the consent of my guardian !” 

“ Not in Virginia, Gladys I That is what I was about to 
explain to you. Not in Virginia, because Virginia still re- 
tains some old and barbarous laws, relics of the feudal ages, 
and discredits to modern civilization — laws that eveiy other 


96 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


State has discarded. So we cannot be married in Virginia. 
But we can cross the Potomac into the neighboring State 
of Maryland, where the laws of man do not presume to con- 
trovert those of God — and there we can be legally married.” 

“ Is that so ?” she inquired, in surprise. 

‘‘ If it were not, would I say that it was ? If it were not, 
would I have taken you from your home ?” 

Oh, no, no, no ; I am sure you would not ! I can trust 
in you, Arthur ! I do trust in you from this time.” 

“ Indeed you may, Gladys ! Heaven knows that you 
may! Your welfare is dearer to me than my own life. 
And now, darling, let us improve the time, and make for 
Mar3dand as fast as we can,” said Arthur Powis, touching 
up his horse, and putting him to his best speed — or to the 
best that was consistent with the dangers of the night’s 
journey along that dark road. 

At eleven o’clock the moon arose, and gradually ascend- 
ing through a cloudless sk}^ illumined all their way. 

“ The worst is over now, m3" brave girl I The darkness 
has all passed away. We shall have the moonlight until 
the sun rises ; and before the night comes again, we shall 
be at our journey’s end,” said Arthur, turning for a mo- 
ment to caress his bride elect. ^ 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE MARRIAGE. 

Ob, beautiful! and rare as beautiful ! 

Theirs was the love in which the mind delights 
To lose itself when the old world grows dull, 

And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights.” — Byron. 


As the dawn grew brighter, Gadys observed that they 
were slowlv winding up a mountain-road, bordered on each 


THE BRIDE OF L L E W E L L Y N. 


97 


side by heavy woods. On the right hand side, where the 
ground was higher, these woods rose tier upon tier until 
the highest trees seemed to touch the heavens. On the 
left, they fell terrace below terrace, until the tops of the 
lowest seemed lost in the shadows of some fathomless 
abyss. The morning, kindling into day, lighted up all this 
affluence of autumnal foliage, until the brilliant hues were 
almost too gorgeous to look upon. Here, as far as the eye 
could reach, above and below, glowed colors so splendid 
that no artist could hope ever to transfer them to his can- 
vas ; the deep, dark green of the changeless pines and 
cedars contrasted finely with the burning crimson of the 
changing oaks, and the shining gold of the sycamores, 
the gleaming silver of the pale, ghostly maple, and the 
glowing purple of the sombre dogwood. And over all 
were the deep blue heavens, and the rosy light of morning. 

Even in the midst of their intense anxiety, the lovers 
could not help enjoying this glorious scene. Silence fell 
between them as they contemplated it. And though their 
souls were in communion with each other, as well as with 
nature, their lips spoke nothing. Those who reall}^ love 
nature make no fuss about it ; their love is too reverent. 

The winding road took them around the side of the 
mountain, and down on the other side, to a little hamlet 
situated in a deep, verdant vale, and thence called Green- 
dell. There, built on one side of the road, was a black- 
smith shop, a post-office, and a country store-house; and 
on the other side was a nice, quiet hotel, which was a white, 
framed house, with green blinds and long porches, all 
shaded with acacia trees, and running vines, in all the 
brilliant foliage of autumn. 

Here Arthur Powis drew up his tired horse, got out, and 
lifted his betrothed from the carriage. 

Waiter, groom and hostler gathered around him. 

“ Take my horse out, rub him down, and give him a feed,’’ 
he said to the hostler. Then, turning to the waiter, he said : 

6 


98 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Show US into a private parlor.^’ 

The waiter bowed low, and, walking before, ushered them 
into the house, and into a pretjy room with neat furniture, 
fluttering white curtains, and windows that looked out upon 
the woods and hills. 

“ Will marse have breakfast?’’ inquired the man, bowing 
and waiting orders. 

“ Of course. Gladys, dear,” said Arthur, turning to her 
and speaking low, “ what will you have ?” 

“ Oh, Arthur, just what you like. Please order it for 
me ; indeed I cannot do so yet,” said Gladys, blushing in- 
tensely with embarrassment at her new bosition. 

Arthur Powis paused a moment in perplexity. He knew 
very well what he wanted for himself, but then something 
delicate was required for Gladys. Suddenly he spoke : 

“Get some coffee and tea, and let both be of the best; 
some white sugar and rich cream ; some light bread, and 
fresh butter, and poached eggs ; some broiled partridges, 
and ” — here he spoke for himself — “ some buckwheat cakes 
and beefsteak.” 

“ Yes, marse.” 

“ How soon can it be ready ?” 

“ In ’bout three quarters of an hour, sar.” 

“ Very well ; now go and send the landlady or the head 
chambermaid here.” 

With a low bow the waiter withdrew to obey. 

Arthur turned toward Gladys. She was standing at a 
back window gazing fixedly out, yet as if she saw nothing. 
He stepped to her side and looked into her face. Her eyes 
were full of tears and her cheeks were white as death. 

“ Gladj’s ! why, Gladys ! dearest love, what is the matter?” 
he inquired, tenderly stealing his arm around her waist. 

She shrank from him, shrinking as it were into herself. 

“ Why, Gladys I beloved !” he said, laying his hand gently 
on her shoulder. 

“ Olr, don’t touch me ! please don’t, Arthur ! I cannot bear 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 99 

it now ; indeed I cannot!” she exclaimed, in low, vehement 
tones. 

Have I displeased you, Gladys ?” he inquired, tenderly, 
but a little reproachfully. 

“ Oh, no, no, no, dear Arthur. It is I! It is myself I” 

“What is the matter, then, Gladys, that you should throw 
me off in this way ?” 

“ Oh, don’t be angry with me ! Have pity on me I I am 
so frightened and so ashamed ; I feel as if I had done so 
very wrong ; and as if it were so improper and so shocking 
for me to be here alone with you in a hotel,” she murmured. 
And as she spoke her face, neck, and forehead grew scarlet 
with burning blushes. 

“ But you are doing no wrong, dear Gladys. You are 
carrying out the plans of j^our parents for your future hap- 
piness.” 

“ I know ; and I do not really think that I am doing ill ; 
but I feel as if I were ; I cannot help it, dear Arthur,” she 
said, smiling through her tears and blushes. 

That smile reminded him of sunshine on a dew-spangled 
rose ; and, laughing lightly, he stooped to kiss her, saying : 

“ Nonsense, love.” 

But she quickly evaded the caress, exclaiming, breath- 
lessly : 

“ Oh, Arthur, don’t I please don’t kiss me, or even lay 
your hand on me, while we are alone together here. And 
don’t be angry with me, dear.” 

He dropped his hand and answered, slowly: 

“No, I cannot be angry with my dearest one ; my only 
dear one ; but I am hurt, Gladys, that you put me from you 
in this way. What is the reason ?” 

“ I don’t know, Arthur. It is not unkindness, dear; but 
I cannot help it. I am distressed, ashamed to look any 
one in the face, and even afraid of you.” 

“Afraid of me, Gladys ?” 

“ Yes ; don’t be hurt with me, please ; I know that I am 


100 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


foolish ; blit have patience with me, clear, until — until 

And then I will not cross you any more. I will be good,’’ 
she answered, in a voice so low that he had to stoop to hear it. 

I understand you, Gladys. 1 understand you thorough- 
ly, my love. I have been very thoughtless. I should have 
studied your feelings more. But I am a rough sailor, 
Gladys. And I beg your pardon. From this time, dearest, 
you are as sacred to me as a queen,” he said, earnestly, as 
he raised her hand to his lips, bowed over and relinquished it. 

She turned on him a smile full of tenderness and devotion, 
as she murmured: 

“ I am your own, dear Arthur ; mind and heart and soul 
your own ; only bear with my weakness a little while, and 
then ” 

The bustling entrance of the landlady cut short their in- 
terview. 

She was a stout, middle-aged, motherly matron, dressed 
in an imitation lace cap, with many flying blue ribbons, and 
in a cheap calico gown. 

Arthur turned and addressed her : 

“ Will you be so good, madam, as to show this young 
lady to a room where she can take off her bonnet.” 

Without immediately repl 3 dng, the landlady looked sus- 
piciously from the one to the other of her guests, as if try- 
ing to discover what their relations to each other might be. 
They were not brother and sister, that she settled at a 
glance ; for there was not a vestige of family likeness be- 
tween them. 

Arthur was tall, broad-shouldered and athletic, with 
flaxen hair, blue eyes and fair skin. 

Gladj'S was petite and elegant, with hair and eyes as 
black as night. 

Therefore, of course, they could not be brother and sister. 
Beside, the 3 "Oung lady was in deep mourning, covered with 
bombazine and crape, and the young gentleman w^ore 'a 
naval uniform, without a vestige of grief about him. And 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


101 


that was curious, too. So the landlady gazed until Arthur 
startled her by impatiently repeating his question : 

“ Will you show this young lady to a room where she can 
take off her bonnet?” 

“ She can take it off here, for that matter,” was the cool 
reply. 

“ But she wishes to change her dress — I mean to prepare 
for breakfast,” said Arthur, sharply. 

“ Come along, then, miss.” 

Glad^^s followed her conductor up stairs into the room 
immediately over the one they had left. 

It was a pleasant chamber, with more fluttering white 
curtains, more green blinds, and more windows looking out 
upon the woods and hills. 

Gladys took off her black bonnet and cloak, and was 
taking down her back hair previous to combing it, when the 
landlady, who was bus3dng herself with the ewer and basin 
at the washstand, suddenly came out with this appalling 
question : 

“ Is that young man down stairs your brother, miss ?” 

Gladys fell into a trembling fit. 

“ No, ma’am,” she answered, in a voice so low that it was 
almost inaudible. 

“ Is he 3’'Our husband, then ?” inquired the woman, magis- 
teriall3^ 

“No, ma’am,” breathed Gladys, in a voice even lower 
than before. 

“I’m verj’' sorry to hear it, miss. It is a very dreadful 
thing for a young lady to be travelling about all over the 
world with a young gentleman that is nothing to her,” said 
the landlady. 

“ He is my betrothed,” murmured Glad3'S, in a faint voice ; 
and, utterly overcome by shame and embarrassment, she 
dropped her hair and sank into the nearest seat. 

“ Your betrothed ? What’s that ? Your sweetheart ?” 

“He is going to be my husband. We are on our way to 


102 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Maryland to be married,” replied Gladys, speaking scarcely 
above her breath. 

“ A runaway match ! That is shocking ! Such things 
never turn out well, young lady ! I advise you to pause 
while there is time — though, indeed, it may be already too 
late ; but that depends upon how far you have come. Ah ! 
I guess how it is ! I dare say, now, you are an heiress, 
aint you now ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

To a good, large fortune. I’ll be bound.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you aint of age yet ? Why no, you can’t be ; you 
are no more than a child.” 

“ I am eighteen.” 

“ Don’t look more than fifteen ! Well, and the young 
fellow, down stairs, I dare say now as he has got nothing?” 

“ He has a noble heart that outweighs any fortune I 
could bring him,” said Gladys, earnestly. 

“Oh, of course! just so ! just as I thought! a fortune- 
hunter running away with an heiress. Child, I ought to 
stop you where you are, and send word to your parents. 
I am a mother myself, and can feel for their distress,” said 
the woman, solemnly. 

“ Oh, if you are a mother,” cried Gladys, clasping her 
hands; “if you are a mother, have pity on me, for I have 
none ; I am an orphan, without a friend in the world except 
the young gentleman who is to be my husband.” 

“ Child, he is your worst inimy, if you did but know it. 
Let him go. If you are an heiress, you will find friends 
enough besides him. And he is your worst inimy, as I said 
before ! Whj^, honey, he’ll squander your fortune in riotous 
living, and bring you to poverty ; and if you complain he’ll 
beat you. I know it. I have seen so many cases of that 
sort.” 

“ Oh ! how you wrong him ! how mistaken you are in 
him ! how unjust ! He is truth, and honor, and goodness 
personified !” exclaimed Gladys, fervently. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


103 


“ I dare say you think so, poor child ! But I am more 
experienced than you, and I know better ? He is a fortune- 
hunter and a spendthrift, who will squander your money 
and break your heart ! You had better be advised by me, 
and let me keep you here and send for your guardian ; for 
if you have no father and mother, poor child, you must 
have a guardian.” 

“ Oh no, no, no ! pray do not send for any one I You 
are utterly mistaken ! He is not what you think him. In 
proof of it, I assure you that he was approved by my 
parents. We were engaged with their consent I” exclaimed 
Gladys, earnestly clasping her hands. 

Then if you were engaged to each other with the consent 
of your parents, why, in the name of the seven wonders of 
the world, should you run away to be married ? It looks 
discreditable.” 

“ I know it looks so,” said Gladys humbly. 

‘‘ Then why do it ?” 

Oh, I had better tell you all about it. You look good 
and true. I had better tell you.” 

‘‘Yes, child, do,” said the lady, settling herself down in 
the arm-chair for a good gossip. 

In a very few words Gladys told her touching story. 

The landlady listened attentively and watched closely. 
The truth was apparent in every word and look of the 
speaker, and it found its way to the heart of the hearer. 

“ Poor child I poor motherless girl ! if this is so, as I 
believe it is, I do not blame you ! You could not have 
done otherwise. I am sorry I spoke harshly to you ; but 
you see I did not understand how it all was ; and it looked 
badly,” said the landlady, kindly, as Gladys finished her 
story. 

“Oh, I know! I know it did! and it does still!” said 
Gladys ; and finding now a sympathizing, motherless woman, 
the motherless girl poured out to her all the embarrass- 
ments that had so distressed her since her arrival. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


lOi 


“ I know, my dear ; I know all about it. You would feel • 
better if you had some third person with you.’^ 

“ Oh, yes, yes ; but I have no one ; not a friend in the 
world, except the one who is to be my husband.” 

“ I’d just as lief as not. I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I 
can leave the house for a day or two in the care of sister 
Ann and the boys. I believe I will,” said the landlady, 
communing with herself. Then speaking aloud, she inquired : 

“ How far are you going, my dear ?” 

“ To Harper’s Ferry, where we will cross into Maryland.” 

“ Would you like me to go with you, and be your mother 
until 3^ou are married ?” 

“ Oh, if you would ! Oh, if you would !” passionately 
exclaimed Gladys, clasping her hands. 

Would the young gentleman like it ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; he would like any thing that would add to my 
comfort. He will be very grateful to you.” 

“ Well, then. I’ll go; so no more about it,” said the woman. 

“ Oh, I thank you I I thank you more than I can ever 
tell you ! But, will it not inconvenience you, this journey, 
taken onl}^ on my account ?” 

“N — no,” said the woman, hesitating. “It will not in- 
convenience me, but quite the contrary. I have a daughter 
married at Harper’s Feriy, whose husband keeps a hotel 
there ; and I have been thinking of visiting her for some 
time ; but I had no company, and I never like to travel 
alone. So if I can serve 3'ou, and benefit myself at the 
same time, we shall both be pleased.” 

“ Oh, that we will ! I should not have felt easy if I had 
thought you were about to sacrifice your interest or pleasure 
for the sake of aiding me, a perfect stranger,” said Glad^^s, 
smiling. , 

“ Child, I might have done it for all that. My love for 
my own gjrls makes me feel for other 3"oung creatures, 
especiall}^ for motherless ones. And now, dear, hadn’t j^ou 
better make haste and wash 3’our face, and do up your hair ? 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 105 


I reckon breakfast will be ready b}^ the time you get 
through,” said the landlady, rising to leave the room. 

“ One moment, please. All this time I have not ascer- 
tained your name,” said Gladys. 

“To be sure ! Why, did you not see it on the sign-board 
— Parker’s Hotel? That’s my name. I have carried on 
the business ever since my poor husband’s death ; and more 
for the sake of his memory than for any great profit it 
brings me ; for you see, as long as the sign-board of Par- 
ker’s Hotel swung before the house, it seemed to be like he 
was not altogether quite gone — that something was left of 
him still. And besides, dear, I was jealous of anybody 
else’s name hanging up there in place of his ; and so, in- 
stead of selling out the business, which I might have done, 
at a good price, I just kept it on for his sake ; and I mean 
to do so as long as ever I live.” 

The talkative landlady spoke very cheerfully as she 
poured this little bit of family history into the ears of her 
young guest ; but the girl’s dark eyes were full of tears, 
and her face full of pity, as she said ; 

“You are a widow, then ? Oh, how sad it must be to 
lose one’s husband I The saddest of all human bereave- 
ments, I do think I” And as she spoke these words, the 
shadows of life’s darkest possibilities crossed her mind, and 
she thought how desolate her own lot might be. And so 
she pitied the widow, who, having lost her husband, clung 
so closely to every thing that had been a part of his life. 

“Ah, well,” said the landlady, with a sigh, “ so it is. But 
in time we get reconciled to all things ; and if it were not 
so, the business of the world could not go on at all. Be- 
sides — we shall meet above,” she added, reverently. 

“ Yes, you will meet above,” answered Gladys. 

And then the good woman left the room. 


106 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


CHAPTER VIL 

THE MARRIAGE BREAKFAST. 

One bosom to recline upon, 

One heart to be his only one, 

Are quite enough for love. — Moore. 

When Gladys had renovated her toilet, she also went 
below to the sitting room, where she found breakfast 
already on the table. 

“ Oh, I hope I haven’t kept yon waiting until every thing 
is cold, Arthur,” said Gladys, suddenly remembering how 
much such “ waiting” used to annoy her father. 

“No, dear, the coffee is just this moment brought in. 
Take your place, and try to think that you are at home. 
You have done the honors of your father’s breakfast table 
often enough to be used to the duty,” replied Arthur, smil- 
ing, as he led her to a chair. 

Ah ! but this was not her father’s table ; and Gladys felt 
the difference, and blushed deeply, as she sat down and be- 
gan to arrange the cups and saucers, preparatory to iiour- 
ing out the coffee. 

While they were eating breakfast, Gladys described to 
Arthur her interview with the landlady, and told him of her 
offer to accompany them on their journey. 

“ She was harsh with me at first, Arthur ; but it was only 
because she thought that I was doing very wrong, running 
away from my father and mother, or guardian ; but when 
she saw how it was, she was very kind to me ; for she is a 
conscientious, good woman, Arthur. Now, dear, how do 
you feel about it ? Will it annoy you if she accompanies 
us ? For it is not too late to change the arrangement. I 
can thank her, and release her from her promise.” 

“Annoy me, Gladys ? No, dearest! I shall be very 
thankful for every protection that you can throw around 
you, to shield your delicacy,” answered Arthur, who, though 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 107 


lie would have much preferred a tete-a-tete journey with his 
beautiful betrothed, was ready to make any sacrifice to her 
feelings. 

When they arose from the table, and rang for the waiter 
to give orders for a fresh, strong horse to be put to the 
carriage, the landlady entered the room. 

“ This is Mrs. Parker, dear Arthur,” said Gladys. “ Mrs. 
Parker, Mr. Powis.” 

“ I thank you very much, madam, for your great kind- 
ness to Miss Llewellyn,” Arthur began to say, with a bow ; 
but the landlady cut him short by exclaiming : 

“ I don’t know as there is so much kindness in it ! I want 
to go to Harper’s Ferry, anyhow ; I want to see my daugh- 
ter as I haven’t seen since she married and went there, six 
months ago.” 

“ I hope it will not trouble you to get ready in a hurry,” 
said Arthur, smiling, “ because we must be off in an hour.” 

“ Oh, dear, no ! I packed my trunk while j^ou were at 
breakfast. And I shall be quite ready by the time Miss 
Llewellyn puts on her bonnet,” said Mrs. Parker, hurry- 
ing out. 

In much less than an hour, the party entered the carriage, 
to which a powerful draught horse, more remarkable for 
strength than elegance, had been attached. 

“Now, young gentleman,” said the landlady, as Arthur 
handed her into a back seat, “ I hope you are a good driver, 
because the nearest route to Harper’s Ferry is right over 
the mountains, and the very worst road that ever was in 
this world.” 

“I am a skilful driver, I fancy,” said Arthur, smiling. 

“ Well, I hope so,” said the landlady, doubtfully. “ Sail- 
ors aint generally so, you know.” 

“But I was a skilful driver long before I ever saw a 
ship.” 

“ Indeed ! — Hand that hamper up carefully, Joe ; or you 
will drop it and break some of the plates ! — There, stow 


108 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


that hamper carefully away, young gentleman, for it holds 
all our dinners — and if that comes to harm, we shall go 
hungry ; because our road lies through what you might call 
a ‘ liowling wilderness,’ where you might travel all day long 
without ever reaching a decent house where you could get 
an eatable meal’s victuals,” said the landlady, giving her 
whole attention now to the safe bestowal of a certain ob- 
long wicker-box that seemed to be wxll packed with edibles. 

AVhen that job was completed to her satisfaction, Gladys 
was handed in to a seat by her side, and Arthur sprang 
into his place and took the reins ; and the carriage started. 

Through all that glorious autumn day they pursued their 
journey ; and if the mountain-road was dangerous, the 
danger was more than balanced by the beauty of the 
scenery. For here the mountains are thickly clothed by 
the primeval forests, and in the autumn their changing 
foliage presents all the most gorgeous colors in nature ; 
•while the gray rocks, jutting here and there, and the cool, 
unchanging evergreens, and many streams and ■v\"aterfalls, 
give variety and tone to a scene that would otherwise be 
too dazzling in its splendor of coloring. 

Late in the afternoon they reached the banks of the 
Shenandoah, and continued their journey along its course 
until they reached the place of their destination, Harper’s 
Ferry. 

Even in the midst of her intense excitement, Gadys could 
not but be impressed by the beauty and sublimity of this 
place, one of the most magnificent pieces of natural scenery 
in our country. Here the Potomac and the Shenandoah 
rivers, uniting, rend a passage through the Alleghany 
Mountains, whose gray rocks rise each side of the rushing 
river to the height of twelve hundred feet. The sides and 
summits of these mountains, like all others in Yirginia, are 
clothed with the most luxuriant forests. 

But I have described this place elsewhere, and will not 
•weary my reader with it here. 


THE BRIDE OF L L E W E L I. Y X . 


109 


Gladys saw it for the first time very late in the afternoon 
of a September day, when all the magnificent and splendid 
scene was lighted up as by a conflagration with the rays 
of the setting sun. 

They drove along the main street of the town and drew 
np at a picturesque little hotel, that, in Europe, would have 
made the fortune of its proprietor. 

“ This is my daughter’s house — I mean my son-in-law’s ; 
but it is all the same. It is not a big house like the ‘ United 
States’ further down the street over the way ; but it is neat 
and comfortable, and home-like,” said Mrs. Parker, as she 
made her arrangements for alighting. 

I am sure it is,” answered Arthur, as he handed her 

out. 

Two or three negro servants came out to take the horse 
and receive orders from the guest. But Mrs. Parker, 
leaving Arthur to attend to Gladys, gave the orders her- 
self — first asking questions : 

“ Here you, Jim, how is your missis ?” x 

“ She’s all right, mum,” answered the man. 

“ How is your marser ?” 

“ He’s all right too, mum.” 

“And how' is business ?” 

“ It’s all right, mum.” 

“ Then there’s nothing wrong ?” 

“ No, mum.” 

“ Thank heaven ! Now, Jim, run in and tell your missis 
that I have come ; and then run out and put up the gentle- 
man’s horse, and rub him down, and give him a good feed.” 

“ The gentleman, mum ?” 

“No, you idiot ! the gentleman’s horse ; but first run and 
tell your missis I’ve come.” 

The man started to obey ; but it seemed that somebody 
else had been before him with the news, for at that moment 
a pretty young woman burst out of the house, and threw 
herself in the arms of Mrs. Parker, and burst into tears of 


110 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


‘'Ah, you so glad to see me as all that, Nelly?” said the 
elder woman. 

“ Oh,^mother !” sobbed the 3^oungei\ 

“ There, there, Nell I Don’t ery ! I have come to sta}’’ a 
whole month with you. But I have brought you some 
guests. Attend to them first, dear ; especially the young 
lady, and after you have done that we will have a good 
long talk.” 

Mrs. Parker then presented her fellow travellers to her 
daughter, and they all went into the house together. 

The young hostess — her married name was Barton — took 
Gladys up into a neat bed-chamber, supplied her with all 
that she required after her journey, and then left her. 

As soon as Gladys was alone, her spirits sank ; the old 
feeling of wrong-doing, and of humiliation and timidity, re- 
turned upon her in full force, coupled now with a vague 
presentiment of approaching evil. Slowly and sadly she 
went through her toilet. And when she had completed it, 
she sat down on a low chair and wept. 

At the end of an hour, her motherly friend, Mrs. Parker, 
found her thus. The good woman entered gaily, sajdng in 
a chirping tone : 

“ Well, my dear, the tea is all ready, as good a tea as 
ever you sat down to ! ITes, as good as you could get at 
my house, or even your own.” 

Then seeing that Gladys was in tears, she exclaimed : 

“ Why, what’s the matter now ? What ails the girl ?” 

Gladys wept, but could not speak. 

“ Come now, what is it ? Tell me,” said the Tvoman, sit- 
ting down by her side. 

The maiden dropped her head upon her friend’s shoulder, 
and weeping, softly answered : 

“ I do not quite know ; there is no real cause, so I suppose 
I am weak and foolish.” 

“ How so, dear ?” 

“ Oh, I feel as if I was doing something so very wrong.” 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYH. 


Ill 


“ But you know that you are not. The young man you 
are about to marry was your parents’ choice for you.” 

“ I know ; but — I feel mortified and alarmed ; and I feel 
almost like retracing my steps.” 

“What! backing out! That will never do now;^ you 
have gone too far, my dear. Beside, you would feel as 
badly, or very nearly as badly, if you were going to be mar- 
ried in the most regular and pleasant manner in the world, 
in your own drawing-room, with all your friends around, 
and your mother to dress you, and your father to give you 
away, and your own old family parson to pronounce the 
marriage benedictions. 

At this mention of her father and mother, and her mar- 
riage at home under happier auspices, poor Gladys burst 
into a passion of tears. The contrast of that imaginary 
picture with the real facts, was too much for her ; a keen 
sense of her orphanage wounded her to the heart ; and she 
wept bitterly. 

“ There ! weep on my bosom. It is nothing, and it will 
soon be over. Every sensitive and thoughtful girl feels just 
as you do when she is on the brink of a new life. But she 
would not back out if she could. Neither would you — 
would you, now?” 

“ Oh, no — no, indeed,” said Gladys, through her tears. 

“No, of course not; it would not be just to Mm, you 
know. And he is a fine young man ; I see that very plainly ; 
and he will make you happy.” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed ! I know he will — bless him ! And it is 
very unkind to Mm for me to weep so much ; but I will 
never let him see me do it,” said Gladys, lifting her head 
and wiping her eyes. 

“You will not weep after you are married. He will con- 
sole you for all,” said the good woman, gently. 

“ I know it. Well, I suppose he is waiting for me now. 
Are my eyes very red ?” 

“No, dear; come along.” 


112 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Oh, Mrs. Parker, how good you are to me !” exclaimed 
Gladys, with a sudden outburst of gratitude. “ What in 
the world should I have done without you ! I believe I 
should have gone crazy or died of humiliation and fright, 
if you had not come with me. I shall thank you all my 
life.” 

“ There, dear, you needn’t sa}^ another word. I know all 
about it, better than you do. Now let us go down.” 

And arm in arm they wxnt down into a pleasant, private 
parlor, where the tea-table was ready set. 

Arthur advanced to meet her. 

“ I have not been idle since you left us, love. I have 
found a minister who will unite us to-morrow morning. We 
will walk quietly across the bridge to the Maryland side of 
the river. There is no church there, nor even a house ; but 
there, at the foot of the Pinnacle Rock, there, under the 
open sky, in a ‘temple not made with hands,’ we will ex- 
change our vows,” he whispered. 

Gladys returned the affectionate pressure of his hand, 
but made no other reply. And the entrance of the waiter 
with the tea-urn put an end to this little passage of love. 

“ Will you please take the head of the table? You do 
not know how embarrassing it is to'me to do so,” whispered 
Gladys to her friend. 

Mrs. Parker laughed and complied. 

As soon as tea was over, by the advice of the good 
woman, Gladys, worn out by fatigue, excitement, and loss 
of sleep, bade Arthur good-night, and retired to her room. 

Mrs. Parker accompanied her, and did not leave her until 
she had seen her in bed and asleep. 

Glad3^s, thoroughly exhausted, slept late into the next 
morning. No one would allow her to be disturbed until 
she waked. But when at length she opened her e^^es, recol- 
lected herself and rang her bell, Mrs. Parker was the first 
one in her room. 

“ Get up as quick as y^ou can, my dear ; every thing is 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 113 

ready and everybody waiting for you ; the minister is down 
stairs, and we think the sooner the ceremony is performed 
the better. We can just walk across the bridge and have it 
over at once ; it wont take long, and then we can come 
ba^k to breakfast,’’ said the good woman. 

Even before she had ceased speaking Gladys was out of 
bed and at her wash-stand. 

There was a knock at the door. 

Mrs> Parker went to open it. There was the young host- 
ess with a large strong cup of coffee in her hand. 

“ That will do, Nelly; you can go; we don’t need you. 
dear ; she will be down directly, tell them,” said Nelly’s 
mother, taking the cup of coffee from her hand and shut- 
ting the door. 

“ Here, my dear, you must drink this, the whole of it, to 
keep you up until we get back to breakfast,” she said, 
bringing the refreshment to Gladys. 

“ How good you are to me,” said the grateful girl, for 
the twentieth time, j)erhaps, as she took and quaffed the 
coffee. 

Gladys soon completed her simple toilet, and they went 
down stairs. On their way, Mrs. Parker darted through a 
side door into another room, and instantly returned with 
her bonnet and her gloves in her hands. 

“ Nelly and Ned and myself are going across the bridge 
with you, my dear. We would like to see the ceremony 
performed, and besides it will look better,” she said, as 
they continued their way. 

“ Oh ! yes, yes ; thank you, ’’exclaimed Gladys, eagerly. 

When they got down stairs they found the bridegroom, 
the minister, and Ned and Nelly Barton waiting. The 
minister, the Reverend Mr. Jones, was introduced to the 
bride-elect, and the party at once set out. Mr. Jones drew 
the arm of Gladys within his own, and went in advance, 
followed by Arthur and the others. 

As the bride was dressed in deep mourning, and there 
7 


114 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

was not a single bridal favor in the whole party, there was 
nothing about them to attract the attention of the curious 
as they passed down the main street. When they came 
nearly opposite the great hotel of the town they turned 
into the cross street leading to the bridge. 

When they were half way across tlie bridge, over the 
channel of the river, with Yirgiuia on the one side and 
Maryland on the other, the minister paused and said : 

“We are now out of the jurisdiction of Virginia and 
within that of Maryland. It is really not necessary to go 
any further, unless you particularly wish to do so. Your 
marriage would be quite legal if performed here. Many 
marriages are performed here, as Mrs. Barton knows.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said the young hostess ; “ two or three runa- 
way marriages every week. It is only necessary to be be- 
yond the boundary line of Virginia to make them legal. 
And we are so here.” 

“ It shall be as Miss Llewellyn pleases,” said Arthur, 
appealing to his bride. 

“ Oh, pray, then, let us go quite over to the other side. 
It is so dreadful to be married on a bridge,” whispered 
Gladys, beginning to tremble. 

That decided it, and they went on their way and reached 
the other shore. 

“ Well, we are on Maryland ground now, beyond all 
question,” said Mr. Jones, cheerfully, as the whole party 
paused at the foot of the tremendous “ Pinnacle.” 

The minister led them close under the shadow of the 
great rock and began to prepare to perform the rites. 

“ Dear me,” exclaimed Mrs. Parker, in a low whisper, “ I 
never thought of it before !” 

“ Thought of what, mother ?” inquired her daughter, in 
the same low tone. 

“ Why, she is as good as doomed I she is going to be 
married in black, which is always considered an unlucky 
omen ! And not only black, but the deepest mourning, 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


.115 


bombazine and crape, which is worse than all!” said the 
good woman, with an appalled look. 

“ But she wears it for her parents, so how can she help 
it ? Besides, I don’t believe in omens, mother. I)o you, 
yourself, really now, mother ?” inquired Nelly, smiling. 

“ N-no, I don’t know as I do ; but they always make me 
feel very uncomfortable when they happen to be bad ones,” 
replied Mrs. Parker, making a fine distinction. 

Gladys perceived that they were whispering together and 
she looked uneasy. 

Nelly noticed this and effected a diversion by laughing 
and saying : 

“ What queer bridesmaids we are — mother and I — Miss 
Llewelljm ! — an elderly widow and a married woman to 
wait on a young lady bride I I think it is too absurd, or 
would be, only that thej’^ say it is lucky.” 

Gladj^s smiled faintly in repl}^ ; but she was too agitated 
to trust herself to speak. 

The minister opened the book ; the party grouped them- 
selves properly before him ; the rites were begun ; and 
there, in the great temple of nature, under the lofty arch 
of heaven, before the high altar of the mountain, Arthur 
Powis and Gladys Llewellyn pronounced their vows and 
received the nuptial benediction. 


CHAPTER yill. 

PURSUIT. 

Happiest in this. . .her gentle spirit 
Commits itself to yours to be directed, 

As from her lord, her governor, her king. — Shakspeare, 


As soon as the marriage ceremony was over, and the 
usual congratulations were offered and accepted, the wed- 
ding party retraced their steps across the bridge and back 
to the little inn, where, by the orders of the 3^oung hostess, 


116 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


a marriage breakfast had been prepared and laid in the pri- 
vate parlor. 

Here, when Gladys and her friends had taken olf their 
bonnets, the bridal party re-assembled around the table. 
Mrs. Parker presided ; the Rev. Mr. Jones asked the 
blessing ; the bride and bridegroom sat on the right hand 
side of the board, and the host and hostess on the left. 

“ This is not the breakfast, nor are we the guests that 
should celebrate the union of the son of Colonel Powis with 
the daughter of General Llewellyn ; but as for the break- 
fast, ‘ half a loaf is better than no bread and as for the 
guests, ‘ when there is no better company, welcome trump- 
ery,’ ” said Mrs. Parker, laughing, as she poured out the 
coffee. 

You disparage your hospitality and wrong yourself and 
your daughter, dear Mrs. Parker. Your breakfast is ex- 
cellent, and you are the best friends w’e could have found 
in our need. I hope that neither” — Arthur paused and 
blushed like a girl as he gave his bride her new name — 
‘‘ Mrs. Powis nor myself will ever forget what we owe you, 
or cease to remember you with gratitude and affection.” 

“There! that will do, j^oung gentleman. We did it to 
please ourselves,” replied the landlad3^ 

And probably she spoke the truth. Most gossips of her 
class delight in a wedding — especially in ix. justifiable runa- 
way matcli. And if ever a runaway match could be justifi- 
able, that of Arthur Powds and Glad^’s Llewellyn certainly 
W'as. 

They could not linger over the merry wedding breakfast, 
because Arthur had taken places for his bride and himself 
in the Baltimore stage coach that was expected at the door 
in half an hour, for he purposed to take her to Washington, 
where his ship now lay for repairs. 

So they soon arose from the table, and went to their sev- 
eral private apartments to make ready for the journey. 

In twenty minutes afterward they took an affectionate 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 117 

leave of their new found friends, seated themselves on the 
back cushions of the capacious old stage-coach, and com- 
menced their journey. 

Nelly Barton slipped off her shoe and threw it after them 
“for good luck.’’ Ned Barton hoped they would be as 
happy as he and his own wife were. Mrs. Parker said, 
“ God bless them j” and then the three returned into the 
house. 

The old stage-coach had scarcely rumbled out of the 
eastern extremity of the town before a heavy travelling- 
carriage rolled in from the west, and drew up before the 
great “ United States.” 

Nelly, from the window of her little sitting-room at the 
end of the house, saw this equipage stop, and she immedi- 
ately called out to Mrs. Parker : 

“As sure as you live, mother, there is Mrs. Llewellyn’s 
carriage, and she has come in pursuit of the lovers. How 
glad I am the}?- are married and gone.” 

Mrs. Parker came hurrying to the window, where she 
joined her daughter to look out. 

“Yes, that is the madam’s carriage. I have seen it often 
and know it as well as I do my own gig. And, yes, that is 
Mrs. Llewellyn herself getting out and going into the ‘United 
►States’ to look for the runaways, as if there wasn’t another 
inn in the place. Well, they’ll not be able to give her much 
information there, that’s a comfort.” 

“ Don’t be jealous, mother,” laughed Nelly; “we don’t 
pretend to rival the old hotel.” 

They continued to strain their eyes down the street to 
watch the result. Presently they had their reward. 

The lady came out politely attended by a waiter, who 
bowed with every alternate word, and with many flourishes 
seemed to be pointing out Nelly’s own house. 

“Ah, you see, the ‘ United States’ people saw us all go 
over the bridge this morning, and I dare say some of them 
watched us through their spy-glass and witnessed the mar- 


118 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

riage just as well as we did who were on the spot. And 
now, you see, they know who the lovers were the lady’s 
description, and they have gone and directed her here,” 
said Nelly. 

The young hostess appeared to be right, for, even as she 
spoke, she saw Mrs. Llewellyn re-enter her carriage, and 
saw the coachman turn his horses’ heads in the direction 
of the “Bells,” as Nelly’s little inn was called. 

In three minutes the handsome carriage drew up before 
the door, and the handsome woman dressed in deep mourn- 
ing alighted, and with a stately air walked into the house. 

Ned Barton, the young host, received the lady with all 
the respect due to her rank, and, in answer to her questions 
respecting the lovers, he ushered her into Nelly’s sitting- 
room, saying; 

“ Here is my wife and her mother, madam, who can tell 
you more about the affair than I can.” 

Nelly and her mother looked at each other in a state of 
mind between triumph and consternation, and then they 
arose to meet the lady. 

“ Keep your seats,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, haughtily 
waving her hand, as, without waiting for an invitation, she 
threw herself into an easy-chair. 

The mother and daughter bowed and sat down again. 

“ Now, which of you two women was it who aided and 
abetted my ward in her most disgraceful elopement with 
that disreputable fortune-hunter ?” she inquired, insolently, 
as soon as the host had withdrawn. 

“ It was 1 1” exclaimed the two, both speaking at once, 
half in terror and half in defiance. . 

“Ah I — both, it appears 1” said the lady, severely. 

“Yes, ma’am, both!” exclaimed Mrs. Parker, who was 
the first to recover herself. “ Yes, ma’am, both of us was 
in it, and proud to be so. And when you talk about its 
being of a ‘ disgraceful elopement’ and him being of a 
* dis’ ” — here the good woman stumbled in quoting an un- 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 119 


familiar word — “ ‘dis-re-parable fortune-hunter/ you do an 
amiable and highly respectable j^oung lady and gentleman 
a great wrong, ma’am ; and I expect it aint the first, and 
mayn’t be the last, as you’ll do them ; and I feel free to 
tell you so.” 

“ Woman !” exclaimed Mrs. Llewellyn, in haughty surprise. 

“ ^^o more of a woman than you are yourself, ma’am. 
And quite as much of a lady, if it comes to that 1 leastways 
in principles.” 

And Mrs. Parker was upon her feet, with her arms 
a-kimbo, in an instant. 

Mrs. Llewellyn, in her fastidiousness, rather shrank from 
a wordy encounter with an amazon who did not stop to 
choose her words ; so she commanded herself as well as she 
could, and inquired : 

“ Are you aware that you have broken the law and com- 
mitted a felony, in aiding the abduction of an heiress from 
her home ? And that the penalty for such a crime is im- 
prisonment in the State penitentiary for a term of years ? 
I say, were you aware of this ?” 

“ No ; I wa’n’t aware of it until you told me, and I aint 
aware of it now. And I don’t believe it’s true ; and I don’t 
care if it is. Lor’ ! tell that to the horse marines. If every- 
body as helps a pair of lovyers to get married is to be sent 
to prison for their pains, this town would be half emptied 
of its people, and the penitentiaries would be so full, you 
would have to build new ones. Don’t try that on me, 
ma’am, please ; it wont fit,” said Mrs. Parker, half angrily, 
half derisively. 

I say, that whether you know it or not, and whether 
you believe it or not, you have exposed yourself to great 
danger from a criminal prosecution. And you will find it 
so, unless you do what you now can to repair the wrong,” 
said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

^‘And what may that be ? I can’t unmarry them again, 
can I ?” inquired the landlady, with a sour smile ; — not 


120 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


that she was the least frightened the words of the lady, 
but because she wished to know exactly what was meant. 

“No, you cannot unmarry them, but you can give me a 
full and particular account of the whole alfair, as far as you 
are acquainted with it.” 

“ Oh, yes I I can do that very well,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Parker, with alacrity ; for she felt sure that the narrative 
would fill her unwelcome visitor with despair of ever being 
able to undo a knot that had been so firmly tied ; and she 
could not imagine any possible harm that could accrue to 
the young pair from her disclosures. 

So, with' secret satisfaction, she commenced and related 
the whole story of her acquaintance with the lovers. 

When she reached that part of the tale in which she 
spoke of her own ill-founded suspicions of Gladys, and her 
half-formed intention to stop the fugitive and send word to 
the guardian, Mrs. Llewellyn broke into the discourse with — 

“ Oh I if you had but done that, you would have been 
munificently rewarded. I would not have minded giving 
you a thousand dollars.” 

“ I am very glad the temptation wasn’t thrown in my way 
just when I was in doubt what to do, ma’am. It might 
have decided me, ma’am, and decided me wrong ; for money 
is a great blinder, and that is a fact. As it was I did right ; 
I feel I did,” said the landlady, stoutly. 

“ Continue your narrative,” said the lady, haughtily. 

Mrs. Parker complied, and finished her story without an- 
other interruption. 

“And so, ma’am,” she said, in conclusion, “you see they 
are married fast enough, and have gone to Washington to 
spend the honeymoon. His ship is there, and — oh I I forgot 
to tell you — he is just made into a lieutenant.” 

Mrs. Llewellyn arose, thanked the landlady for her 
information, and, declining all refreshments, re-entered her 
carriage and drove back to the larger hotel. 

One night Mrs. Llewellyn remained in Harper’s Ferry to 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


121 


rest and recruit herself, and the next morning she started 
for “Kader Idris,” where, late in the afternoon, she arrived, 
looking terribly worn and haggard. 

No friend had that grim lady in that house. She had 
servants who did her bidding in fear and hate. And she 
would have been alone in her criminality, but for the exist- 
ence of one slavish and irresponsible instrument — the deaf 
and dumb negro. Him she summoned to her presence on 
the same evening of her return home. And with him she 
had a long private interview — though how so long a consul- 
tation could be carried on without the aid of speech re- 
mained a mystery to all the household except the parties 
concerned. 

The morning succeeding this conference, Mrs. Llewellyn, 
without telling her servants where she was going, or when 
she would return, left home for an indefinite period, at- 
tended by the deaf mute. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE BRIEF HONEYMOON. 

From the home of childhood’s glee, 
From the days of laughter free, 

From the loves of many years. 

Thou hast gone to cares and fears ; 

To another path and guide. 

To a bosom yet untried. — Mrs. Hemans. 


Meanwhile the young couple pursued their journey. It 
was late in the evening of the day of their departure from 
Harper’s Ferry that they reached Washington city; too 
late, indeed, for Gladys to see any thing of the Federal 
capital, which was entirely new ground to her. 

They stopped for the night at one of the jirincipal hotels ■ 
on Pennsylvania Avenue. 


122 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

But as the 3"Ouug lieutenant’s limited salary would by no 
means support that style of living, they went out early the 
next morning in search of cheap and respectable lodgings. 

But as lodgings both cheap and respectable were not easy 
to be found in the heart of the city, even at that time, their 
search was for some time Amin. 

Af|er spending nearl}’’ a whole day in walking through 
the principal streets of the city, they found themsehms late 
in the afternoon before the gate of a solitary house, on the 
eastern suburbs, to which they had been directed by some 
one who had seen an adAmrtisement in the morning papers, 
that there the proprietor had promised the comforts of a 
home to “a gentleman and his wife, or two single gentle- 
men,” who might be disposed to become inmates. 

Now, then, Arthur and Gladys stood before the gate, and 
surve^md the scene. Through a vista of many ancient trees, 
they saw, at some distance off, an old-fashioned country- 
house, that stood in the centre of a larger garden than many 
people can afford to haAm near the cit3r at this day. The 
old apple and peach-trees that surrounded it, bent under 
their loads of autumnal fruit. The vines that climbed over 
arbors in the garden, and over porches around the house, 
were heavy with their wealth of grapes. Rich-looking yel- 
low pumpkins lay like lumps of pure gold ore on the ground ; 
tomatoes hung like huge cornelians on their d 3 dng Aunes. 
In old-fashioned flower-borders gaudy dahlias, chrysanthe- 
mums, and other late autumnal flowers, glowed refulgent 
in the last rays of the setting sun. An atmosphere of per- 
fect peace surrounded this old suburban house. 

“ I like this place very much,” said Arthur, leaning over 
the old, unpainted, wooden gate. 

“ So do I,” said Gladys. “ I think we should be happy 
here, if it were not too far from the navy yard, Arthur.” 

“ It’s not too far for me, love ; I shouldn’t mind the Avalk 
at all.” 

“ Then it is altogether right ! I wonder what sort of 
people live here.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


123 ' 


We shall see in half a minute, love,’’ said Arthur, lift- 
ing the wooden latch and passing in, with Gladys on his arm. 

A long, grassy avenue, with but a narrow, worn foot-path 
in the ver}’- middle, led them up to the old house, and under 
an old porch and to a dark green door, without either 
knocker or bell for the convenience of visitors. 

Arthur rapped loudly with his knuckles and stood await- 
ing the result, while Gladys sat down upon one of the rustic 
benches of the porch and rested. 

In a moment the door was opened by the landlady in 
person, who stood smiling benignantly upon the visitors, 
and waiting for them to speak. 

But if the house was old-fashioned, good gracious I what 
was the landlady ? Imagine a tall, thin old lady, of any 
age you please between seventy and a hundred, with a pale 
face, graj^ hair, and dim blue eyes ; and dressed in an ante- 
diluvian style, in a high-crowned muslin cap, with broad 
ruffle borders all around her face and tied under her chin ; 
a clean, faded calico gown, made with a short waist and 
tight sleeves, and a long, plain, straight skirt, of the same 
circumference all the way down from her arm-pits to her 
feet ; a white cambric triangular handkerchief pinned over 
her bosom, and a long, narrow white cambric apron tied 
before her gown, and you have a true picture of Miss Polly 
Crane, the maiden lady, who stood within the door, smiling 
affectionately down on our young couple. 

“ We are here, ma’am, in answer to an advertisement in 
this morning’s paper,” said Arthur, bowing. 

‘•Y-yes — (the old lady pronounced this word ee-yase, 
with the softest tone, and gentlest drawl, that was really 
not the result of affectation, but of a true and excessive 
courtesy ;) — y-J^es ; please to come in and sit down,” she 
said, leading the way into a large, low-ceiled, shady parlor, 
into every window of which the branches of the trees with- 
out intruded. 

“I will call Milly ; I never do any thing without consult- 


124 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


ing she said, as sbe sat chairs for her visitors, and 

left the room. 

“ I like the laiidlad3'' as well as the house,’’ said Arthur. 

“ So do I,” said Gladys. “ I wonder how they manage 
to get the branches of the trees out when the}’' want to close 
the windows for the night, or do they ever close them ?” 

Before Arthur could form any opinion on this subject, 
the door opened again, and two old ladies entered, so per- 
fectly alike in face, form, dress, speech and manner, that it 
was almost impossible to say which of them had been the 
one who first met the visitors at the door. 

While Glad3’s was trying to solve this problem, the first 
one advanced, beckoning on the other, and saying : 

Milly, here is a 3"oung gentleman and lad}", come to see 
about the rooms. Sir, this is my sister, Milly.” 

Arthur arose and bowed, sa3"ing: 

“ I am glad to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” 

“ Y-yes,” said Miss Milly, in precisely the same tone as 
that in which her sister spoke ; “ y-3^es — just so. And what 
might be }"Our name, sir, if 3"ou please ?” 

“ I beg 3"Our pardon I I should have introduced myself 
by name before. I am Lieutenant Powis, of the navy.” 

“ Y-yes ; and the lady ?” 

“ Pardon again 1 My wife, Mrs. Powis,” smiled Arthur- 

Gladys arose, blushed, curtsied to the old ladies, and sat 
down again. 

“ And 3"ou have come to look at our roo-ooms ?” gently 
drawled the old lad}^ making two syllables of the last 
word. 

“ YYs, ma’am.” 

“We will call Jenny. We never do any thing without 
consulting Jenny,” said Miss Milly, and she left the room, 
followed by her sister. 

“ Why, what very odd old ladies ! but, indeed, I like 
them wdth all their oddity,” laughed Arthur. 

“ So do I,” agreed Gladys. “ But I wonder why they 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


125 


couldn’t all have come in together, since it is necessary 
that they should all be present, and not come singly ?” 

‘‘ Routine, perhaps, my dear,” said Arthur, just as the 
door opened for the third time, and in came three old 
maiden ladies, all so exactly alike that it was quite per- 
plexing to distinguish the first, second or third from the 
others. 

“Jenny,” said one of the sisters, “this is Captain 
Powers, and this is Mrs. Powers, come to look at our rooms. 
Captain Powers, this is my sister Jenny. Mrs. Powers, my 
sister Jenny — or, as strangers call her. Miss Crane, she 
being the oldest — that is to say, a very little the oldest.” 

“ I am happy to know you. Miss Crane,” said Arthur, 
politely, while Glad3"s arose, bowed, and resumed her seat. 

And in truth, both the young people were glad to learn 
the family’ name of these simple sisters, for to distinguish 
Miss Polly from Miss Jenny, or either from Miss Milly, 
seemed a total impossibility. 

“ And would you like to look at the rooms now, Captain 
Powers ?” inquired Miss Jenny. 

“ If you please, ma’am ; but your amiable sister has made 
a slight mistake, I am Lieutenant Powis,” said Arthur, 
bowing and smiling. 

“Indeed, sir! Well, that is just like my sisters — they 
both are forgetful of names,” said Miss Jenny. “ Will you 
come and look at the rooms now ?” 

“ Certainl^^” 

“ Stop a moment, if you please, sir. I will call Harriet. 
We never do any thing without consulting Harriet,” said 
Miss Jenn3% going out of the room, attended by her two 
sisters. 

“ Mercy on us ! is there a fourth I” exclaimed Arthur. 

“ So it seems I I wonder if there is not a fifth, also?” 
said Gladys, laughing. 

“ And a sixth ?” said Arthur. 

“ It is like a fairj^ tale, of the seven sons, or the five-and- 
twent}^ princesses, where all are so much alike that ” 


126 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Before Gladys could finish her sentence the door opened 
the fourth time, and in came the three sisters, followed — 
not by a fourth sister, but by a middle-aged negro woman, 
of whom it would be difficult to say wdiether she were the 
biggest, or the blackest of her race. She w'as dressed in 
a faded blue cotton gown, with a white handkerchief tied 
around her head, another white handkerchief pinned over 
her bosom, and a white apron tied before her rotund 
person. 

‘‘Harriet,” said Miss Jenny, bringing the woman forward, 

“ this is Major Pow'ell, of the army, and his lady, who have 
come to take our rooms. Make your obedience to them 
directly.” 

Harriet made a very low curtsey, and stood with her fat 
arms crossed over her stout chest. 

“ Major Powell, this is our woman Harriet. As I men- 
tioned to you, we never do any thing without consulting 
her ; not that we make an equal of her by any means j but 
because she is a good, faithful old family servant who has 
our interests at heart.” 

“ I am glad to make Mrs. Harriet's acquaintance,” 
smiled Arthur. “ And now, as it is getting late, may I 
ask to see the rooms ?” 

“ Or is there any one else you would like to call into 
council?” suggested Gladys, mischievously. 

“ Oh, no,” answ^ered Miss Jenny, quite seriously; “there 
is no one else. The colonel can see the rooms whenever he 
likes. Harriet, show Colonel Pollard and his lady the | 
rooms, and tell him the terms.” | 

“ Will you please to follow me, sir and madam ?” said | 
the woman, opening the door leading into the hall, and i 
then going before the visitors up the broad stairs and con- 
ducting them into a large bedroom immediately'- over and 
exactly like the parlor, in all respects except in the matter 
of furniture. Here, too, the overgrown branches of the trees 
without projected into the window^s. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 127 


*‘I like the room very much,” said Arthur. 

“ So do I ; but how do you manage to close the window- 
shutters ?” said Gladys. 

“ This way, ma’am,” said Harriet, going to the windows 
and unfolding the wooden shutters that were folded into 
each side of the window frames and shutting them against 
the intrusive branches, which were in that manner shut out. 

Oh, I see,” said Gladys ; “ but why don’t the ladies have 
the trees trimmed?” 

“ ’Cause they is better as they is. They serves as cur- 
tains and saves buying. In summer they keeps the sun 
out’n de house. And in winter de wind.” 

I shouldn’t think they would keep much wind out in 
winter, when their branches are bare.” 

“Anyways they tangles it and breaks its force,” persisted 
Harriet, as she closed the last window with a violent push 
and turned to the visitors. 

“ Well, I think we like the rooms. How, what are the 
terms, my good woman ?” inquired Arthur. 

“ Why, 3^oung marster, for yourself and the 3"Oung madam, 
it will be twenty-five dollars a mont’, including ob ebery 
ting.” 

“ That is liberal and — latidudinarian !” laughed Arthur 
appealing to Glad^^s. 

“It is very, very reasonable, after what we have seen and 
heard to-day,” said Gladys. 

“ Well, aunty, I think we like the terms as well as we like 
the rooms. We will take them,” said Arthur. 

“ Stop a bit, 3"Oung marster. In de fus place, we de- 
mands deferences,” said the woman, folding her arms over 
her apron and swinging herself from side to side. 

“ You demand — what ?” 

“ Deferences,” repeated Harriet, firmly. 

“ What the deuce do you mean by deferences ?” inquired 
Arthur, twisting his face into a very strange expression 
between frowning and laughing. 


128 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


‘‘ I mean, young marster — has you got any ’sponsi- 
bilities 

“ ‘ Responsibilities V — Gladys, that means — children ! 
No, aunty, we have no children.” 

“ I don’t ax yer ’bout no chillun ! Yer nothin’ ’t all but 
chillun yerselves !” said the woman ; while Gladys, blush- 
ing and laughing, turned away. 

“ Then, my dear, good soul, what in the name of common 
sense are you asking us about ?” demanded Arthur. 

I telled yer before, young marster ? I ax yer ’bout 
deferences and ’sponsibilities.” 

‘‘ But what do you mean by deferences and ’sponsibili- 
ties?” laughed Arthur. 

‘‘I means some un as can speak for you and prove how 
you is all — all you ’fesses for to be,” explained Harriet. 

“Oh! you mean references. Certainly! Quite right. 
I can refer your mistress to Commodore Dash at the navy 
yard, and the Reverend Doctor Starr of Christ Church. 
Will they do ?” 

“ Berry well, indeed, young marster. Dey is de rale first 
quality ob de gentle folks,” answered Harriet. 

“Now I suppose we may consider the affair quite set- 
tled?” 

“ Yes, young marster.” 

“ We can come — when ?” 

“Any time you please, sar.” 

“ Then we will be here early to-morrow morning. And 
now lead the way down stairs, as it is getting late.” 

The woman curtsied and obe5’^ed. 

When they went below, Arthur and Gladys stopped at 
the parlor door only long enough to bid the sisters good- 
evening. And then leaving Harriet to explain to them the 
result of the negotiations, the young pair left the house 
and garden and made the best of their way back to their 
hotel. 

They were tired and hungry enough to enjoy the late 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 129 

fashionable dinner of the establishment, and the quiet 
evening that followed it. 

Early the next morning they hired a carriage and drove 
out to take possession of their new lodgings. 

The three sisters received them with great distinction, 
followed Grladys to her room, took off her bonnet, mantle, 
and furs, with their own hands, insisted on ordering a cup 
of tea for her directly, although she assured them that she 
had breakfasted only an hour before. And, in short, they 
proffered so many attentions that any one but Gladys 
would have felt bored by their officiousness. But to the 
orphan girl all this was exceedingly comforting, and she 
met their affectionate zeal with such evident gratitude as 
completed her conquest over the old ladies’ hearts. 

After they had suflaciently rested, Arthur and Gladys 
wandered through the old-fashioned garden, and regaled 
themselves upon the rich black English peaches with which 
the trees were loaded, and the sour apples that lay upon 
the ground, and the luscious purple grapes that hung from 
the vines. 

“Well,” said Arthur, “how fast I am promoted.” 

“ Promoted ? I should think so. At the rate these dear 
old ladies are advancing you, you will be a major-general 
in a month !” laughed Glad3^s. 

“ In a day, dear ; in a day. It has scarcely taken them 
twenty hours to transfer me from the navy to the army, 
and raise me from a lieutenancy to a colonelcy,” said 
Arthur. 

Both laughed ; for at this hour — with all their troubles 
over and all their dangers past, or supposed to be — they 
were gay and happy as two careless children. 

Suddenly the bright face of Gladys became grave with 
remorseful tenderness, and she said : 

“It is wrong to laugh at them. They are very old. I 
fear they are in their dotage.” 

“ But we were not laughing at them, dear love. We 
8 


130 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


were laughing at my amazingly rapid promotion. That is 
surely a subject of laughter. But I wish, dear Gladys,’’ 
he added, growing serious in his turn, “ that for your sake 
my promotion could 'really be a little more rapid than 
it is.” 

“ Oh, Arthur, you wicked fellow, be content. What in 
the world do we want that we have not got ? And in a* 
little less than three years Kader Idris will be ours,” said 
this inexperienced girl. 

And in such talk — half grave, half gay, and in wander- 
ing about the quaint old garden — the newly married lovers 
passed the remaining hours of the morning. 

At two o’clock, the early dinner-bell summoned them to 
the house. 

In a large, pleasant, old-fashioned dining-room, with tall 
windows, shaded by blue paper blinds, and a floor covered 
with a home-made carpet, and high-backed, straw-bottomed 
chairs ranged around the walls, the table was set. 

The old ladies had arranged the dinner with an affectionate 
zeal that seemed better suited to beloved invited guests 
than to ordinary boarders. They gave Gladys the pleasant- 
est seat facing the windows, so that she could look out 
into the garden and watch the bees that were at work near 
at hand. And they begged “ the colonel ” to take the post 
of honor at the foot of the table. And they pressed upon 
the young pair every delicacy that was upon the board. 

^ “ This is not like your great hotel dinners. Colonel Pol- 
lard ; but I dare say it is just as wholesome,” said Miss 
Polly, as she helped Arthur to a liberal allowance of boiled 
fowl with egg-sauce. 

“No, indeed, it is not like our ‘great hotel’ dinners in 
any one respect ; for it is a great deal better in all respects 
. — better cooked, neater, more cheerful and orderly,” said 
Arthur, to the immense delight of Miss Polly, who ex- 
claimed, gleefully: 

“ There I You hear that, Milly ? You hear that, Jenny ? 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 131 

Now we must tell that to Harriet! It will encourage her 
to continue to do her best.’’ 

And so when Harriet came in to change the plates she 
was informed that “ Colonel Pollard ” approved her cooking 
far above that of the French cook at the great hotel where 
he had been stopping. 

Harriet tucked her head down upon one shoulder and 
giggled, saying that she reckoned as how marse colonel 
only said so to please her and ’courage her, but for her part 
she didn’t ’tend to ’pare her plain dishes with the cookinary 
arts of the great mounseers, etc., etc., etc. 

After dinner, the sisters retired to their own sanctum, 
wherever that might have been ; and Arthur and Gladys 
went into the shady parlor, that, having no other occupant, 
seemed tacitly given up to their exclusive, use. 

“ Well, dearest, this is the last whole day that we shall 
pass together for some time ; for you know my leave expires 
to-night, and I must rejoin my ship to-morrow morning. 
But never look sad on that account; for as long as I am at 
the navy yard I shall be able to pass the greater portion 
of my time with you. I shall be able to come home almost 
every evening. You will not be sad, will you, Gladys ?” 

“ Oh, no, Arthur 1 I will not be so unreasonable,” smiled 
the girlish bride. 

“ And you think you will be contented with these old 
ladies ?” 

“I am sure I shall! I feel as if I had known them all 
my life ! Good old souls I I do believe, Arthur, if you 
had hunted Washington over, you would not have found a 
happier home for me.” 

“ Thank heaven for that, dearest ! And there is another 
circumstance. Whenever I am off duty, I shall be able to 
go around with you and show you something of Washing- 
ton.” 

In such pleasant chat as this they passed the afternoon, 
until summoned to the early six o’clock tea. 


132 TUE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


And what a bright, cheerful, attractive object that tea- 
table was, with its snow-white cloth, its quaint, old-fashioned 
china, its fine tea, cr3^stal sugar, rich milk and cream ; its 
golden-hued, sweet, fresh prints of butter, its delicate 
home-made bread and cakes, its honey and preserved fruits 
and made dishes; and, above all, the happy old faces 
that smiled around the board. 

Soon after tea the weary young pair retired to rest. And 
so ended their first clay in their new home. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE SWOOP OP THE VULTURE. 

Is there no constancy in earthly things ? 

No happiness in us but what must alter? 

No life without the frequent change of fortune? 

What miseries we are unto ourselves, 

Even then when full content seems to sit by us, 

What daily cares and sorrows ? — Beaumont and Fletcher. 

The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Arthur 
took a gay and loving leave of Gladys, and started to go on 
board of his ship, to report for duty. 

Gladj^s, standing at the rustic gate where she had parted 
with him, watched him quite out of sight, and then went 
back to the house, ran up into her own room, threw herself 
upon a chair, and burst into tears. 

This was very weak and foolish, as she frankly said to 
herself, because he was only gone for the day, and he would 
be back again at niglit. But then this was the first time 
he had left her since their marriage, and she felt so lonely 
in the strange house, that she could not help weeping a 
little. 

When she had wept herself into a state of composure, 
and while she was quietly wiping her eyes, there came a 
rap at her door. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 133 


“ Come in/’ she said, expecting to see Harriet, who ful- 
filled the duties of chambermaid as well as cook. 

“If you please, ma’am,” said the woman, curtseying at 
the open door, “ the young ladies, ma’am, sends their 
’spects to you, and says how they hopes you wont ’main 
up here a-mopin’ by yourself, but will come down to their 
sittin’-room, and look at their fancy quilt, as they’ve just 
stretched out in the frame ; and they’ll be very glad to see 
you.” 

“ The young ladies I What young ladies, Harriet ?” 
inquired Gladys, with surprise and interest ; for youth loves 
the companionship of youth ; and visions of social enjoy- 
ment arose before the young bride’s imagination. “ What 
young ladies, Harriet ?” 

“ Why, o’ course, my young ladies, honey.” 

“ Yours ?” 

“Yes, honey, my young misseses.” 

“ I thought you belonged to the Miss Cranes ?” 

“Why so I does, honey. It’s them as I ’ludes to.” 

“ But — ^you spoke of young ladies ; are they relations of 
the landladies ?” inquired the mystified Gladys. 

“ Lors bress my soul and body, honey I aint it dem as I’m 
a talking ’bout all de time ? He lan’dies, my young misseses, 
de Miss Craneses — Miss Polly, and Miss Milly, and Miss 
Jenny Crane?” 

Gladys stared for a moment in the deepest perplexity. 

“ Lors, chile, de colonel goin’ away must a ’fused your 
head 1 It’s my three young misseses as you lives ’long of 
as has sent me to fetch you,” said Harriet, just a little im- 
patiently. 

Then Gladys, as the truth broke on her, and she under- 
stood the whole matter, burst into a gay laugh. 

This honest, stolid, middle-aged negro woman, who called 
the venerable old ladies her “ young” misseses, had doubt- 
less been taught to do so when she was an infant just learn- 
ing to talk, and they were spinsters of about twenty-five 


134 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

years of age. And from habit, she had gone on calling 
them so ever since. 

This reminded Gladys of her own home, where she had 
often heard bare-legged little urchins speak of their gray- 
haired master as ‘‘ young marse,” in imitation of the veteran 
negroes, who remembered an older one. 

Nevertheless, Gladys laughed, as she answered : 

“ Tell your ‘ young ladies,’ with my respects, that I thank 
them, and I will be down presently.” 

Harriet went away to take this answer ; and Glad3^s soon 
followed her down stairs, and into a pleasant back room, 
that overlooked a poultry yard and a wheat field, with a 
barn and some ricks. 

This room was furnished, like the others, plainly and 
neatl}^ much of the furniture being of domestic manufac- 
ture. There was a home-made carpet on the fioor, and 
green paper blinds at the windows, and a green paper fire- 
board against the fireplace. And there were plain deal 
tables, and wooden chairs with plaited straw seats, all of 
domestic manufacture, ranged against the walls. And over 
the mantel-piece, and between the windows, were guadily- 
colored wood-cuts, representing saints and angels, with red 
and blue dresses, and yellow glories around their heads. 

In the middle of the room, a very gay patchwork quilt 
was stretched in its frame for quilting, and around it sat 
the sisters. As neither of them ever did any thing singly, 
all arose at once to meet and welcome their guest. 

“ What a beautiful quilt I” exclaimed Gladys, more in 
good-nature than in sincere admiration, as she approached 
the frame, and looked at the design of the patchwork — 
groups of gorgeous fiowers, shaped out of bright-colored 
scraps of calico, and sewed on a white ground. 

“ Yes ; we thought you would like it. It is to compete 
for the prize in the needlework department of the Agricul- 
tural Fair,” said Miss Polly, gazing with pride upon her 
work. 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 135 

I think you ought to get it for this elaborate piece of 
art,” said Gladys. “ But come, now, if I am to sit with 
you, I must help you. I can quilt beautifully — quilting is 
a country accomplishment, you know.” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Colonel Pollard I The idea of our troubling 
you to quilt I We could not think of it, ma’am,” said Miss 
Milly. 

Gladys did not stop to correct the mistake in her name, 
nor to argue the question of her assistance. For the first, 
she had so often gently reminded the sisters that she was 
only Mrs. Lieutenant Powis, and they had so often meekly 
begged pardon, and so inevitably fallen into the same 
blunder again, that she finally yielded the point and con- 
sented to be — with them — Mrs. Colonel Pollard, for the 
remainder of her sojourn in the house, if not for her life. 
For the second, she took her “ housewife” from her pocket, 
fitted on her thimble, threaded her needle, and seated her- 
self beside Miss Jennie, who sat on one side of the frame 
opposite to Miss Polly and Miss Milly, who sat on the other. 

“ Well, if you will, you will, I suppose,” said Miss Jenny, 
resignedly. 

‘‘ Certainly,” said Gladys, laughing and commencing 
work. 

And as her youthful eyes, and nimble fingers, and better 
skill, enabled her to do the work three times as fast as the 
three sisters together could do theirs, she was soon con- 
sidered an immense acquisition. 

‘‘ It would be downright robbery to take board for yow, 
child I” said Miss Polly, bluntly. 

Gladys looked up in amazement. 

“ Downright robbery 1” persisted Miss Polly. ‘‘ For just 
consider— this quilt is to win a prize of one hundred 
dollars. Besides which, it is worth a good sum in itself. 
Now, we are three and you are one. Now, you are doing 
as much work as we three together. Now, three into one 
hundred will go — oh, good gracious alive ! how is one to 
get three into one hundred I” 


186 ; THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ Call ill Harriet. She’s good at figures. (She always 
counts up the market money correctly you know),” advised 
Miss Milly. 

As this counsel met the general approbation, the woman 
was summoned and the matter explained so her. 

“You mean,” said Harriet, “that over and above de 
actiwell wally of de quilt dere is a hund’ed dollars prize 
money as ought to be ’wided fair and ekal ’mong dem as 
quilts it?” • 

“Yes, that’s what we mean! And as Mrs. Colonel 
Pollard does as much as all three of us together, we want 
to know how much her share ought to be,” said Miss 
Jenny. 

“ Well, den, it ought to be just half, of course ; fifty 
dollar for you three, and fifty dollar for her one,” said 
Harriet. 

“ There, now,” said Miss Polly, “ see how quick Harriet 
made it out, without doing any sum either. Now, you see, 
Mrs. Colonel Pollard I If you insist upon helping us at this 
rate you will be entitled to fifty dollars prize money, and it 
would be downright robbery to ask your board.” 

Gladys laughed and blushed, but answered gravely : 

“I please myself. Miss Polly.” 

With any creatures less simple and innocent than these 
sisters, she must have been angry ; but she could not be so 
with them. 

Harriet was about to leave the room, when Miss Milly 
stopped her. 

“Wait! we might as well order dinner while you are 
here 1 Mrs. Colonel Pollard, my dear, as the colonel will 
not be home, we have no one but you to consult. Now 
what would you like for your dinner ?” 

“Any thing at all that is convenient, Miss Milly.” 

“ Oh, nonsense, honey, speak your mind I I will tell you 
what we have got now, and you can pick and choose. 
First, there’s the young pig as we killed yesterday, which 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 137 

would be very nice roasted with sage and inyuns — but per- 
haps you think it too airly in the season for roast pig ; and 
maybe you don’t like inyuns, which they certainly do affect 
the breath?” said Miss Jenny, putting in her word and 
pausing for a reply. 

“Any thing you please, my dear Miss Jenny ; it does not 
matter to me.” 

“And then there’s a leg of mutton that would be nice 

with caper sauce. And there’s a pair of ducks ” said 

Miss Polly. 

“ Whatever you like. Miss Polly.” 

“ No, no, but what you like, my dear ! Now do tell us !’^ 

Gladys looked from one sister to the other, trying to find 
the direction of their inclinations ; and fancying that they 
set strongly toward roast pig, she decided in favor of that 
savory dish. And Harriet received her orders accordingly, 
and retired to execute them. 

The sisters were very talkative ; but in their garrulity, 
they were more communicative than inquisitive ; fonder of 
narrating their own family affairs than of inquiring into 
those of others. Gladys was pleased with these traits of 
character, as they saved her the trouble of parrying awk- 
ward questions. In the conversation that followed, she 
learned much of the sisters’ history. 

In the first place, they were Catholics, as their forefathers 
had been, and as Gladys had already guessed from the pic- 
tures on the walls. Now, though this young lady had been 
brought up in the Protestant faith, she had also been edu- 
cated in the spirit of religious toleration, so she did not like 
her kind hostesses the less for a difference of opinion. 

She learned, besides, that they owned the house and the 
market-garden in which they lived ; that they had one other 
sister, the youngest of the family, Amy, who had married, 
against their parents’ will, a northern man of the name of 
Hart, and had gone off with him away to the North; and 
of her, long ago disinherited and exiled, if not dead, they 


138 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


had not heard for many, many years ; and that they had a 
brother, a priest, who had charge of the parish of St. Peters, 
near the Capitol Hill, and who came once or twice a week 
to take tea with them. 

These and many other minor matters were gratuitously 
told to Gladys, who listened with friendly interest. 

Upon the whole, her day passed very cheerfully. 

Late in the afternoon she put on her bonnet and walked 
in the direction of the navy yard to meet Arthur. And she 
met him within half a mile of the house, and they strolled 
back through the fields together. 

“ I have my furlough renewed for a week, dear Gladys ! 
When I told my captain how lately I had been married, he 
laughed, and voluntarily gave me another week’s leave of 
absence. So, as to-morrow is Sunday, I will take you to 
church ; and on Monday we will go and see some of the 
public buildings,” said Arthur, as he drew her arm within 
his own and walked her on toward their temporary home. 

Their programme was carried out to the letter. The 
next morning they walked down to the Episcopal Church, 
and heard a satisfactory sermon from the pastor. Doctor 
Starr. On Monday they visited the Patent Office, the 
Post-office, and the Capitol. On Tuesday they went over 
the State, War, Navy, and Treasury Departments. On 
Wednesday they went over the President’s house and 
grounds. On Thursday they visited the Georgetown Col- 
lege and Convent. On Friday they went through the 
Arsenal. On Saturday morning Arthur said to her : 

“ Now, dearest, I think we have made very good use of 
our time, and seen as much as it was possible to see in six 
days. This is the seventh and last day of my furlough. I 
have reserved for this day the greatest treat of all — the 
treat of showing you over my ship I So get on your bonnet 
and we will start, 

Gladys lost no time, j^ou may be sure. She was soon 
ready. 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 139 


And they set out gaily to walk on that pleasant autumnal 
morning. 

‘‘ They reached the navy yard in good time, and went 
down to the water’s edge. The fine frigate “ Neptune” lay 
about a quarter of a mile from the shore. 

Arthur hailed the ship, which immediately sent a boat to 
bring the young couple off. Arthur lifted Gladys in, and 
they were swiftly rowed to the side of the frigate. 

The captain, who was expecting this visit, met them on 
the deck. 

Arthur presented Gladys, who was received with much 
gallantry and distinction, and introduced to the officers, 
and to their wives, who had come on board to meet the 
young bride. 

They all went ‘ over the ship together. Gladys was 
interested in every thing that was shown her — the decks, 
the ropes, the sails, the rudder, the guns, et cetera; but 
most of all, in Arthur’s little cabin, sacred in her eyes from 
his three years’ occupation of it. 

“And did you really go around Cape Horn in this cabin ? 
And when you were on the Pacific, did you really sit here 
and look around you, and see the very same objects that 
you see now?” she smilingly asked. 

“ Of course I did,” laughed Arthur. 

“Well, that seems the quaintest part of a sailor’s life, to 
me I For when we lands-people go away, we leave home 
and all our familiar surroundings ; but you take your home 
with you everywhere !” 

“ So far as a dwelling-place makes a home, I suppose we 
do,” said Arthur. 

When they had finished their inspection of the ship, they 
were invited into the captain’s cabin, where an elegant col- 
lation was spread. 

After they had partaken of this repast, they bade fare- 
well to their hospitable entertainers, and set out on their 
return home. 


140 THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 

The mountain-girl was a good walker, and she declared 
that she was not the least fatigued ; and she declined the 
carriage that Arthur would have called for her. 

As they walked up Garrison street, however, talking 
gaily of the pleasant events of the day, an incident occurred 
that disturbed the peace of Gladys. As a carriage rolled 
rapidly past them, she started, turned pale, and convul- 
sively clasped the arm of Arthur. 

“ Why what ails you, my dearest ? Are you afraid of 
being run over?’’ inquired Arthur, drawing the trembling 
little hand closer within his arm. 

“ Oh, no, no, no ; but — didn’t you see ?” 

“ What, love ?” 

“ Mrs. Llewellyn was in that carriage !” 

Nonsense !” 

She was, indeed I I saw her I She met my glance and 
drew back I” 

“ But even if this is so, why should it disturb you ? You 
are safe.” 

“ Safe ! Oh, yes ; I know I am safe with you, dear Arthur ! 
I kuow she cannot separate us now ; but still I tremble at 
the sight of that woman !” ^ 

Your tembling is but the effect of association, the reflex 
action of the old tyranny and oppression.” 

' “ Oh, it is not altogether of the past I think I I tremble 
for the future I” 

“ But, dearest love, why ? She can do j’-ou no manner of 
harm, except in keeping you out of your inheritance until 
3'OU are twenty-one. And we know that already, and are 
reconciled to it.” 

“ I know she cannot really harm me ; but, I shiver at the 
sight of her, as we are said to do when we pass over the 
spot that is to be our own gravel” 

“ Sheer nervousness, my darling I Think no more of Mrs. 
Llewellyn 1 Her day of power over you is gone,” said Ar- 
thur, drawing her arm closer to his side. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 14:1 


They sauntered on at a leisurely pace, and at sunset 
reached their suburban home, where they found the tea- 
table set, and Father Crane, the priest of St. Peter’s, there 
to spend the evening with his sisters. 

He was a tall, thin, fair-faced, gray-haired man, very like 
his sisters, so like them that he had a humorous way of 
classing himself among them as — “ Myself and the other 
old ladies.” 

Father Crane was presented in due form to “ Colonel and 
Mrs. Pollard.” 

Arthur took the first private opportunity of correcting 
that chronic mistake in his name. But as Father Crane 
called the young couple nothing but “ Sir” and “ Madam,” 
Arthur had no opportunity of judging whether he profited 
by the correction. 

The priest went away the same evening. And soon after 
his departure, the family separated and retired. 

And thus ended the young couple’s holiday week. 

The next day, although it was the Sabbath, Arthur was 
obliged to report for duty. So, after breakfast, Gladys, as 
before, walked with him down to the gate, to take leave of 
him there. She was much more cheerful than on their pre- 
ceding short parting of the week before. No shadow of 
approaching evil clouded her spirit. He kissed her gaily, 
and went out of the gate. Then he turned around and lin- 
gered a little while, looking at her 'and talking. And at 
length he said he reall}^ must go. And she stood on tip- 
toes to kiss him over the gate ; and then he laughed and 
hurried away — she steadily watching him and he frequently 
looking back and smiling at her, until he was out of sight. 

Then she returned to the house. 

Gladys went to church alone that morning. As the walk 
was very long she did not go again in the afternoon, but 
remained quietly at home, w^hile the old ladies went to ves- 
pers at their own church. But the young bride was not 
lonely. Her thoughts were pleasantly occupied with anti- 


142 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


cipations of her husband’s speedy return. He had promised 
to be back by sunset to tea, and the sun was nearly down. 

She walked to the gate to watch for him. And then, as 
the afternoon was so fine, she strolled out to meet him on 
his return. She strolled a much longer way from home 
than she had expected to do when she passed the gate ; but 
still she did not meet him. The sun went down ; the shades 
of evening came on j and still she walked on ; but still she 
did not see him. 

She met the old ladies, however, on their return from 
church ; and very much shocked they were to see her. 

“ Dear me, Mrs. Colonel Pollard, my dear, is this you 
W’^alking all alone by yourself at this solemn hour of the 
evening !” exclaimed Miss Polly, and all her sisters joined 
in the chorus. 

“ I came out to meet my husband ; but he is late, and I 
have walked further than I intended. I cannot think what 
keeps him,” said Gladys. 

“ Why, child, it is likely as the Colonel has come the 
other way and is at home now,” said Miss Milly. 

“ Is there another way ?” 

“Why, lor’, yes, a short cut by the Eastern Branch 
river.” 

“ Oh, then, I suppose he has taken that path, and is at 
home. I will go back with you. How fortunate it is 
that I met you ! It would have been dreadful for me to 
have had to go home alone at this hour,” said Gladys. 

“ It would have been dangemus, my dear,” said Miss 
Jenny. 

They walked on rapidly, considering the age of the sis- 
ters ; but it was quite dark when they reached the house. 

Gladys ran in. 

“ Has my husband returned ?” she eagerly inquired of 
Harriet. 

“ Lor’, no ma’am I I thought as you would bring him 
home ’long o’ you,” said the woman. 


THE BEIHE OP LLEWELLYN. 143 


What can keep him ?” complained Gladys. 

“ Duty, my dear child, I reckon. You know these milin- 
tary and navial gentlemen’s time is not their own,” said 
Miss Polly. 

“ True I very true ! Don’t wait tea for him, dear Miss 
Polly. You are tired, and want your tea, and he may not 
be home until late. - Oh, yes I it is all right I” said Gladys, 
trying to restrain her impatience, for as yet it was not anx- 
iety that she felt. 

“Well, dear, just as you say. We can keep the kettle 
over the fire, and have fresh tea made for him when he does 
come, you know,” said Miss Mill}^ 

And as the bell rang almost immediately, they all took 
ofi* their bonnets and went to the table. 

After tea, Gladys went and sat upon the porch to watch 
and listen for the beloved footsteps that she expected every 
moment to hear. But she heard no sound but the sighing 
of the wind among the trees, the patter of the falling leaves, 
and a strange, regular, monotonous fiitting over her head, 
for which she could not account. When, however, her eyes 
became accustomed to the gloom, and she could clearly see 
the star-lit sky, and the tree-studded ground, and could 
even discern the distant gate, she saw that the noise was 
produced by the fiitting out of innumerable bats, that came 
from a hole in the roof of the porch, singly and at intervals 
of half a minute, and flew off into the night-sky. 

Gladys was so amazed at the great number that came 
out, that she began to count the remaining ones as they 
appeared. And she was so interested in this strange 
amusement that she forgot her impatience for Arthur’s 
return. 

■ The bats were still flitting out, at the rate of two a min- 
ute, and Gladys was still counting them as they appeared, 
when suddenly Miss Jenny opened the door and spoke to 
her : 

“ My dear Mrs. Colonel Pollard, it is half-past nine, our 
bed-time ; hadn’t you better come in out of the night air 


144 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Oh, no ! please Miss Jenny. The night air doesn’t hurt 
me. It is so pleasant. You go to bed. I will sit here 
and wait for my husband. He will soon be here now. And 
when he comes we will take care to fasten up the house all 
right,” pleaded Gladys. 

“ Well, my dear, just as you please. Good-night, honey.” 

“ Good-night, dear Miss Jenny.” 

The old lady retired and Gladys resumed her lonely 
watch. She gave over counting the bats, and sat watching 
and listening. Long, long, she remained there on her dark 
vigil. Still she was rather impatient than alarmed ; for, at 
last, when she was worn out with watching and she fell 
asleep on her post, it was with these words on her lips : 

“ He is on duty ; oh I I know it is all right I” 


CHAPTER XL 

THE PREY. 

Oh 1 how this spring of love resembleth 
The uncertain glory of an April day, 

; . That now it is all smiles and brightness 

And by and by a cloud takes all away. — Anon. 

“Why, honey I Why, child! Why, Mrs. Colonel Pol- 
lard, my dear ! Why, you have never been sitting here all 
night ; a sleeping in the open porch ; and a catching of your 
death in the night air, with the house door wide open for 
anybody to come in and cut all our throats and rob the 
house I Oh, dear ! deary me 1” 

These were the words, accompanied with several gentle 
shakes, that aroused Gladys from the deep sleep of exhaus- 
tion into which she had fallen, and in which she had lain 
since midnight. ^ 

She started up, shivered as with an argue fit, rubbed her 


145 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

e3'es, gazed around, saw that it was broad day, and recog- 
nized Miss Polly Crane. 

“ My dear child, whatever did you do such an imprudent 
thing for ? It was enough to a-killed you !” continued the 
old ladj^ 

While she spoke, Gladys, so suddenly roused from a 
deep and dreamless sleep, stared around in utter bewilder- 
ment, unable to remember where she was or how she came 
there. But then, as her memory slowly returned, she 
grew alarmed, looked anxiously at Miss Polly, and ex- 
claimed: 

Oh I Miss Polly, has my husband returned, yet ? Do 
you know any thing of him ?” 

“Why, lord, child, how should I? I have just got up 
and opened the house. And I never was more surprised 
nor more shocked in my life than I was when I saw you 
a-sitting there on that identical green bench, with your 
head leaned down upon your hand, fast asleep. My good- 
ness, honey, what ever did you do it for ? Don’t you know 
you risted 3^0 ur life ? In the fall of the year, too, wlien 
fever ’n’ argue is going about like a roaring lion, a-seeking 
whom it ma3^ devour ? What made you do it, hone3"?” 

“ I fell asleep while I was waiting for my husband ! Oh ! 
what can have kept him away all night ? But perhaps he 
might have come home in the night, and passed me in the 
dark without seeing me, and gone up stairs and gone to 
sleep,” exclaimed Gladys. 

And full of this wild idea, she started up and ran away 
to her chamber to ascertain the truth. 

In a moment, however, she came running back, sa3dng : 

“He is not there! He has not been there I I might 
have known it before I Because if he had come home in 
the night, and passed me in the dark, and gone up into our 
room, he would have missed me directly and made inquiries 
and found me. Oh, dear me ! what could have kept him 
out all night ?” 

9 


146 . THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ My dear child, didn’t you warn me yourself that some- 
times he would he away all night on milintary or navial 
duty 

“ Oh, yes,' to be sure I did. It is that which has kept 
him ! Oh, of course it must be that, and I won’t be a fool,” 
said Gladys ; but she shivered as she spoke. 

“ I tell you what, my dear, you have took a bad cold, 
‘that’s what you have took. Now, come right into the 
kitchen-fire and warm yourself, that’s a dear. And Harriet 
will have a hot cup of cofiee ready in no time,” said Miss 
Polly, leading the wa}^ into the house. 

Gladys obediently followed, and sat down shivering in 
the chimney-corner, holding her hands over the blaze, and 
watching the kettle boil, while Harriet ground the coflee. 

“Now, what do you think of this child, Harriet? Do 
you think she hasn’t been sitting up all night waiting for 
that husband of hers to come home, and he on duty all the 
time ?” 

“ That’s bad ! I makes no doubt she’s cotch cold, by 
her shivering and shaking so much. I ’vises you to go to 
bed, honey, and be kivered up warm, and I’ll bring you up 
some hot coflee to the bedside,” said the colored woman, 
kindly. 

“ Yes, do, child,” added Miss Polly. 

“ No, thank you both very much ; but, as soon as I have 
taken something to give me a little strength and warmth, 
I am going down to the navy yard,” replied Gladys. 

“ Down to the navy yard !” exclaimed mistress and maid 
in a breath. 

“Yes; because I cannot bear the suspense. If he was 
on duty all night, he may also be engaged all day ; and he 
may not be able to return before night — perhaps not even 
at night ; and in the meantime I should be half dying with 
anxiety. So, odd as the proceeding may seem, I shall go 
to the navy yard, and to his ship, to .inquire after him,” 
said Gladys ; but as she spoke her teeth chattered like 
^castanets. 


THE BRIDE OF L L E W EL L Y N . 


147 ' 


“ I tell you what — you’ve got an ague on you now ! And 
you must go to bed. And I will send a messenger down 
to the ship to make inquiries for you,” urged Miss 'Polly. 

‘‘ No, no, thank you ! Indeed, I could not wait for any 
messenger to go and come I I must know all as soon as 
possible,” persisted Gladys. 

And no arguments or entreaties could move her from her 
purpose. 

She would not even wait for the regular breakfast to be 
got ready, but went up stairs immediately to make a hasty 
morning toilet ; and then, as soon as the coffee had boiled, 
she drank a cupful nearly scalding hot. And then set out 
upon her long walk. 

It was one of those fine, bright, frosty, bracing morn- 
ings common to that season of the year ; and between the 
effects of the exhilarating atmosphere and the coffee she 
had drank, and the hope of speedily seeing Arthur, Gladys 
felt her health and spirits revive. 

‘‘ If he has been on duty all night, he maybe let off early 
this morning ; and in that case I shall meet him on the 
way ! How surprised he will be to see me I And ah ! if 
he is still on shipboard, how more than surprised — how 
shocked he will be to see me coming there, alone, to seek 
him ! Perhaps he will be angry ; but I do not think so. 
lie may think I act very foolishly, but he will not be angry 
with me. At least, I know nothing that he could do would 
make me angry.” 

Such was the course of her thoughts, as she walked on 
through the cornfields, until she drew near the streets, and 
entered upon the navy 3"ard hill. 

In a few moments she reached the gate, and entered and 
crossed the whole length of the yard to the water’s edge, 
from which she saw the ship lying at anchor, about an 
eighth of a mile from the shore. 

She stood there and waved her handkerchief, hoping that 
some of the officers on deck would see her, and send off a 


148 


THE BRIDE OF L L E W E L L Y H. 


boat to fetch her. Her hope was realized. Captain Wil- 
liamson, standing on deck, glass in hand, was the first to 
observe her. He immediately dispatched a boat with an 
officer and four men to her service. 

The young midshipman in command smilingly saluted 
her as he stepped ashore, and asked : 

“ Do you wish to go on board, Mrs. Powis 

“Yes, if you please. No, perhaps not. I really don’t 
know yet. 1 came down to inquire after my husband. • Is 
he on shipboard, do you know ?” inquired Gladys, hesitat- 
ing and blushing in her embarrassment. 

“No, madam, he has not been here yet this morning,” 
answered the midshipman. 

“No ! wh}^ has he not been on the ship all night ?” ex- 
claimed Gladys, in alarm. 

“ Oh, no, madam ! The captain did not require him.” 

“ When — when did he leave the ship ?” 

“ At four bells. I brought him off m37'self.” 

“ Pour bells — what is that ?” 

“ Six o’clock in the afternoon, I mean, it was when I 
brought him off, and he set out to walk home.” 

Gladys threw her hand to her head, and reeled as if she 
would have fallen ; but recovering herself with an effort, 
she said : 

“ Mr. Mills — you are Mr. Mills, I believe ?” 

“ Yes, madam — that is my name,” said the boy officer, 
touching his hat. 

“ Mr. Mills, then — did he — my husband, I mean — say 
where he was going ?” 

“ Yes, madam ; he said that he was going directly home, 
for that you were not as well as he could wish, and that he 
was very anxious on your account.” 

Gladys had turned as pale as death, and she was tremb- 
ling in every limb, wffien she said : 

“ Mr. Mills, he never came home last night. Oh ! do you 
think there is really any cause to be alarmed ? There are 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 149 


no such persons as footpads or highwaymen about the city, 
are there 

The young officer had stepped back a pace or two, and 
was gazing at her in surprise: 

“ Oh, answer me ! You do not think there is any just 
reason for anxiety, do you entreated Gladys, claspiug 
her hands and raising her eyes appealingly to the face of 
the lad, for want of a more experienced counsellor. 

“ Blest if I know, ma’am ! Not home all night, after his 
hurry to get there ! That is very odd !” replied the boy, 
quite startled out of his self-possession and politeness. 

“ But — might not something have prevented him — some- 
thing not dangerous, I mean — something like business, or 
news, or the arrival of a friend ?” gasped Gladys, catching 
at these vague conjectures, as the drowning catch at straws. 

“ I — don’t know, I’m sure, ma’am,” replied the young- 
officer, who showed as much consternation as Gladys 
herself. 

Mr. Mills,” said the young lady, striving to attain com- 
posure, I must request you to assist me into the boat. I 
will go on board the ship, and see Captain Williamson. 
Perhaps he will be able to throw some light on this subject.” 

“ Perhaps he will, ma’am. Take my hand,” said the 
youth, gallantly aiding Gladys to step into the boat. 

“ Give way, boys,” he said, as soon as she was seated. 

And the boat was shoved off. 

They soon reached the side of the ship, on the deck of 
which they found Captain Williamson waiting to receive 
the visitor. 

« “ Good morning, madam,” he said smilingly, holding out 
his hand to assist her in reaching the deck, “You look 
rather pale and tired with this climbing. Never mind. 
There ! you are safe now. Where is Mr. Powis ? And why 
is he not with you ?” 

“Ah, why indeed, sir ! I came here in the expectation 
of hearing from him ! He has not been home since yester- 


150 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 


day morning!” said Gladys, as she stood, white, panting, 
and nearly breathless, before the captain. 

“Not home since yesterday morning ! Why — where is 
he ?” demanded that officer, in surprise. 

“Ah, sir, I do not know ! I came here in the hope of find- 
ing out I” replied Gladys, beginning to wring her hands. 

“Why — that — is — very — strange,” said the captain, 
slowly and emphatically dropping each word like a bullet, 
as he gazed inquiringly upon the face of Gladys. 

“ Oh, sir ! may he not have gone out on business, up to 
the Navy Department for instance; and might not the 
secretary have sent him off on some sudden duty, that left 
him no time to explain to you or to take leave of me ?” said 
Gladys, clasping her hands and fixing her imploring eyes 
upon the face of Captain Williamson, as though she were 
praying him to sa}^ yes, and give her some comfort. 

But even in the midst of his own anxiety, the captain 
could not help smiling at her simplicity. But he had not 
the heart to resist those pleading eyes and hands, and dash 
her last hopes to the ground. He answered evasively and 
even insincerely : 

“We cannot tell what may have detained him; nothing 
that need give you any uneasiness, however, I am sure.” 

“Oh! do you think not? Are you sure not ?” she in- 
quired. 

“ Certain. I will, however, inquire among my officers ; 
they may know something of this strange absence, or its 
cause. Mr. Powis may have dropped some words while in 
conversation with them, that may afford some clue to this 
strange affair.” 

“ Oh, do, do, do. Captain Williamson ! and I shall be 
deeply indebted to 3"OU,” said Gladys, earnestly. 

“ Step into my cabin, then, Mrs. Powis. M}^ wife is there, 
and will be glad to see you,” said the captain, taking the 
hand of the young lady and conducting her to the door of 
the cabin, where Mrs. Williamson received her very kindly, 
and offered her cake and wine. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


151 


Alter ail absence of fifteen minutes, tlie good captain re- 
turned. 

“ Oh ! what news exclaimed Gladys, as he entered the 
cabin. 

** None whatever, my dear lady, except that during the 
<i2,y, yesterday, Mr. Powis was heard several times to ex- 
press great anxiety to get home early on your account, as 
he said that you were indisposed in mind and body,” replied 
the captain. 

“ Oh, dear me ! it makes it all the more alarming, that 
after all he should not have got home at all I Oh, some- 
thing must have happened to him !” exclaimed Gladys, 
wringing her hands. 

What is all this about? What has happened, my dear ?” 
inquired Mrs. Williamson, who had not yet heard of the 
disappearance of Lieutenant Powis. 

The captain told her the circumstances, but added cheer- 
fully : 

‘ There is no real cause of alarm.” 

“ Oh, no, certainly not !” chimed in the captain’s wife. 

You will find it is all right. Something or other, not of 
a painful nature, has happened to detain him a little. That 
is all.” 

Poor Gladys looked from one to the other of her com- 
panions, trying to believe them and to take comfort from 
their words. 

“ Why even now he may have reached home,” said the 
captain. 

“And be waiting anxiously for your return,” added the 
captain’s wife. 

“ Oh I so he may I I will go directly,” said Gladys, 
starting up, all exhausted and trembling as she was, to set 
out on her way home. 

“ Stay, my dear madam. You did not ride here, I fear ? 
I saw no carriage on the shore,” said the captain, detaining 
her. 


152 


THE BRIDE OF BLEW EL BY K. 


“ Oh, no, I walked,’’ replied Gladys. 

“ Then you are certainly not able to walk back. Stop 
here with my wife until I send over and have a carriage 
brought down to the shore to meet you.” 

Gladys hesitated, feeling her weakness, but being unwil- 
ling to wait. 

“ Do, my dear, take my husband’s advice ! You are too 
much worn out to walk back ! And even if you were not 
so, you would not reach home so quickly by walking as 
you will by riding,” said Mrs. Williamson. 

Again Gladys looked from the one to the other in helpless 
embarrassment, and then suddenly taking a resolution, she 
answered : 

“ Thank you, yes ; you are right ; I thank you very 
much indeed.” 

The captain went out and gave the necessary orders ; 
while Gladys remained with his wife. 

In half an hour the carriage was reported to be waiting 
on the shore, and the boat to be ready near the starboard 
gangway. 

Gladys arose to take leave of Mrs. Williamson. 

The captain then conducted her from the cabin. 

“ If my husband should report here before he shows him- 
self at home ; or, if you should hear any news of him, will 
you be so very kind as to send and let me know ? I am 
aware that this is a great thing to ask of you ; but I trust 
in your pity for my great anxiety,” said Gladys, as they 
descended the side of the ship. 

“ Your trust is well founded, my dear ladA^ Immediately 
upon the first news I receive of Mr. Powis I will send a 
man to inform you,” said the captain, as he handed her 
carefully into the boat, and arranged her comfortably 
on her seat. 

“ Thank you ! oh, thank you ver}^ much, sir !” said 
Gladys. 

The captain bowed, returned to the deck of his ship and 
stood there, hat in hand, until the boat was pushed off. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


15a 


When it reached the shore, Gladys got into the carriage 
that was waiting for her, gave the proper directions to the 
driver, and was driven off toward her temporary home. 

The roads were good, the horses fresh, the weight light, 
and so the speed was very rapid. 

Blit to the anxious mind of Gladys the way seemed 
long. She was beginning to feel very ill. Shivers of cold 
were succeeded by flushes of heat and flts of fainting ; — • 
and through all, her head was throbbing violently. 

At length the ride came to an end at the little rustic 
gate leading into the grounds around the old house. 

The driver alighted and put down the steps. 

Gladys got out, but found that she could scarcely stand 
or see. She searched her pocket for her purse to pay the 
man who stood waiting for his money, but she could not 
find it. Then she remembered that she had left it in her 
bureau drawer. 

“Wait here a little while ; I will send you the money,” 
she said. 

And with reeling brain, and fading sight, and failing 
limbs she tottered toward the house, and nearly fell into 
the arms of Miss Polly, who received her on the porch. 

“ My dear child ! how ill you do look ! have you heard 
any bad news ? has any thing happened ?” said the kind- 
hearted old lady as she tried to support Gladys, but stag- 
gered under her light weight. 

Gladys shook her head. 

“ I have heard nothing satisfactory. And I fear, by your 
looks, that you have not either. He left the ship at six 
o’clock last evening to return home. That is the last his 
brother officers have seen or heard of him. I had hoped to 
have found him here. Oh, dear! There, Miss Polly, thank 
you. I must go up stairs now, and get my purse to pay 
the carriage. I was obliged to ride home,” said the poor 
girl, jently disengaging herself from the old lady’s arms ; 
but immediately, when deprived of that support, sinking 
upon the bench of the porch. 


15i THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Indeed, you slia’n’t go to no up stairs at all until you 
have recovered yourself. Where is the man ? and how 
much is it? I will pay him, and then you can settle with 
me arterward,” said the old lady. 

“ Thank you, dear Miss Polly. He is at the gate. It is 
only a dollar. I will return it to you when I go to my 
room,” said Gladys. But her voice came in short, faint 
jerks, as with a great etfort. 

The old lady took a little wash leather purse from her 
own bosom, counted the money that was in it, and set off 
as fast as her feeble limbs would carry her to the gate. 

She paid and dismissed the carriage and returned to her 
guest. 

Gladys had changed in the little time occupied by Miss 
Polly’s absence. Gladys leaned forward upon the arm of 
the rustic bench, and her face was white and convulsed as 
if in mortal agony. 

“ Wh}'-, my dear, dear, dear child ! what is the matter ?” 
inquired Miss Polly, running to her in alarm. 

“ I don’t know ! such a pang caught me in the side I and 
it took away my breath !” gasped Gladys. 

“ I’ll tell you what, you have got the pneumonia from 
sleeping out in the porch all night ! that’s what you’ve got ! 
Now, what will Colonel Pollard say?” exclaimed Miss Polly. 

Gladys did not attempt to reply. Her face expressed so 
much suffering that the old lady hastened to say : 

Come in ! come right in, and go to bed, and we will do 
what we can for your relief.” 

Gladys had no alternative. She immediately arose to 
follow this advice. 

Miss Polly drew the young creature’s arm within her 
own, and helped her up the stairs, and into the chamber, - 
and got her to bed. 

The old lady’s misgivings were well grounded. In a few 
hours Gladys was extremely ill, and great bodily pailPwas • 
added to excessive mental anxiet 3 \ 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 155 

The sisters became alarmed, and took the responsibility 
of summoning their own family physician — Dr. Brown, 
who, when he saw his patient, pronounced her disorder to 
be tj^phoid pneumonia, brought on by fatigue, anxiety and 
exposure to cold. That night Gladys became delirious, and 
forgot all her troubles in the wanderings of a disordered 
imagination. 

The next day Captain Williamson came in person to in- 
qnire after the lieutenant. But the Misses Crane could give 
him no information, except that he had not been heard from 
by them or any one in their honse, and that his young wife 
was lying at the point of death. And the captain went 
away full of sorrow, anxiety and conjecture, to report the 
case to the police, and to invoke their aid in seeking to dis- 
cover the fate of the missing man. For many days Gladys 
hovered between life and death. The three sisters nursed 
her faithfully, tenderly and disinterestedly. The old priest 
came and prayed by her. And the captain sent every few 
daj^s to inquire how the patient progressed. 

And still Arthur Powis did not return. 


CHAPTER XII. 

OMINOUS. 


Between the acting of a dreadful thing, 

And the iirst motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream; 

The genius and the mortal instruments ' 

Are then in council ; and the state of a man. 

Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. — Shakspeare. 

Illness is very expensive. The sisters found it so. Their 
ready money, advanced without hestitation for the pur- 
chase of necessaries for the sick room, was soon expended. 
And then, as they did not wish to go in debt, they searched 


156 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

for their patient’s purse and found it. It was such a slen- 
der little purse, with such a pitiful little sum of money in 
it — only a few pieces of silver ! The sisters felt that it 
would be cruel to draw upon that small fund. And smiling 
and shaking their heads, they put it back. And they bor- 
rowed a few dollars from their brother, the priest. 

And still Arthur Powis did not return. 

Some one else came, however. It was the ninth day of 
Glady’s illness, in the middle of the forenoon. She was 
lying in a deep sleep that her nurses knew would prove a 
sleep “ of life unto life, or of death unto death for this 
was the highest crisis of her illness ; and she must either 
sink into coma and death, or else*' a^wake to full conscious- 
ness and life. Miss Milly and Harriet, who had just re- 
lieved Miss Polly and Miss Jenny, were sitting, the one on 
the right side of the bed, and the other on the left, when 
the sound of wheels was heard, and a carriage stopped at 
the gate. 

Miss Milly arose softly, went to the window, pulled aside 
the curtain and peeped out. 

It was a hackney coach that stood at the gate ; and a 
lady in deep mourning had just alighted from it. She was 
a tall and stately woman, and she walked slowly and ma- 
jestically up the avenue leading to the house. 

“I suppose Polly and Jenny are a taking of a nap after 
their night-watching ; so I had better go down and see who 
this visitor is and what she wants,” whispered Miss Milly 
to her coadjutor of the sick-room. And then she w^ent 
down stairs for the expressed purpose. 

When Miss Milly opened the door to receive the strange 
visitor, she also saw that the doctor had just passed through 
the gate and was coming up the gravel walk. 

Is this Ceres Cottage ?” inquired the lady. 

. “ Yes, ma’am, this is Serious Cottage,” answered Miss 
Milly. 

“ Where the Miss Cranes live ?” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 157 

‘‘ Yes, ma’am, will you walk in?” - 

“If you please. Are you Miss Crane?” inquired the 
lady, as she followed her conductor into the parlor. 

“ No, ma’am ; I am Miss Milly. Will you take a seat ?” 

“ Thank you. You have a young lady boarding here, I 
believe?” inquired the visitor, as she sank into an easy- 
chair. 

“ Yes, ma’am ; a young married lady, she is a lying at 
death’s door at the present moment of time.” 

What effect this announcement had on the visitor. Miss 
Milly could not know, for just at that moment the doctor 
quietly entered the room, saying : 

“ Good-morning, Miss Milly. How is my patient ?” 

“Good-morning, doctor. Just the same, sir; just pre- 
cisely the same, for all that I can see. Will you go up 
now and look at her ?” 

“If you please,” said the doctor, then bowing to Miss 
Milly and to the strange lady, he turned to leave the room. 

Miss Milly stood hesitating whether to remain with her 
visitor, or to attend the doctor, and then she said ; 

“If you will ^please to excuse me, ma’am, I will show 
Doctor Brown up stairs.” 

“No, no. Miss Milly, it is not necessary, I assure you. 
I suppose there is some one up there with her?” said the 
doctor. 

“ Oh, yes, sir ; Harriet is there.” 

“ That will do then. You remain with your visitor,” said 
the doctor, leaving the room. 

Miss Milly turned to the strange lady, saying : 

“ Now, ma’am, what might be your wishes ?” 

“ I wish to see the young lady as soon as possible. Is 
she very ill?” 

“At death’s door, ma’am, I am sorry to say. Might you 
be of any kin to the sweet young lady ?” 

“ I am her aunt by marriage, and her guardian by law. 
What is her illness?” 


158 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


“ Typhoid pneumonia, the doctor 

“ How long has she been ill ?” 

“ Nine days.” 

“ How long has she been with youf” 

“ Near about three weeks, ma’am. 

“ She came here in company with a young officer ?” 

“ Her husband, ma’am. Yes.” 

“ Hmph !” groaned the lady, as if in grief, contempt and 
incredulity. 

“ And oh, ma’am, what do you think ? He is a-missing I 
But perhaps you know that already, and more besides, and 
have come to tell us news of him ?” 

No, I did not know he was missing ; but I am not sur- 
prised to hear it — not at all ; it might have been expected.” 

“Ma’am!” exclaimed Miss Milly, in amazement. 

“This young officer was in the navy, was he not?” in- 
quired the lady, ignoring the exclamation of Miss Milly. 

“Yes, I bffiieve he had something to do on board of a 
ship,” answered Miss Milly. 

“ Yes, of course ; it is the same. So he has left her ?” 
sneered the lady. 

“Ma’am?” gasped Miss Milly, discrediting her own 
ears. 

“ I say, so he has left her already ! Well! I thought he 
would do so ; but I did not think he would do it quite 
so soon.” 

“ Ma’am, he is a-missing ! which his friends do fear he is 
killed !” said Miss Milly. 

“ Oh, yes, I dare say ! Has his body been found ?” 

1 “ Oh, no, ma’am.” 

“ Then how can you suppose that he has been killed ?” 

“ Why, ma’am, because he doesn’t come back, neither to 
his wife nor to his ship ; and he’s been a-missing ten days, 
which he suddenly disappeared the very day as the young 
lady, heaven bless her, was took ill, and which the doctor 
says how it was 072e cause of her illness ” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


159 


“Yes, I have no doubt that his desertion affected her 
very deeply ; though it was just what she might have ex- 
pected ; for such cases as theirs always end in the desertion 
of the one by the other. 

“ Lor, ma’am, how can you talk so I He never deserted 
of her ! Why, she was the apple of his eye and the 
darling of his heart, she was ! And of all the young mar- 
ried people as ever I see, them two was the lovingest and 
the happiest.” 

“ Married !” exclaimed the lady, in bitter scorn. “ Do 
you really suppose they were married?” 

Miss Milly dropped her jaws and opened her eyes and 
stared at her visitor — aghast ! 

“ Do you now really think that that boy and gfrl were 
married ?” repeated the visitor. • 

“ Oh, ma’am, for the Lord of Mercy’s sake, don’t insini- 
wate as they were not married ! don’t I” implored Miss 
Milly, clasping her hands. 

“ I am sorry to shock you, my good woman ; but it is 
best that the truth should be told — nay, it is absolutely 
necessary that it should. The young lady in whom you 
seem to take so much interest ” 

“ I do ; oh, indeed, I really do, ma’am 1 And so do my 
sisters, and so does my brother, and so does Harriet — she 
is our colored woman. Oh ! please don’t say any thing 
against the young lady, ma’am,” said Miss Milly. 

“ Whatever I say, or omit to say, will not alter the facts, 
will it ?” 

“ Well, no, ma’am ; I do suppose not.” 

“ Now, then, what I have to say is this ; that about a 
month ago, or some thing less, this young lady eloped from 
my house with the young officer whom she calls her hus- 
band.” 

“ And who is her husband, ma’am. I would make my 
affydavy of it with a free conscience,” stoutly asserted Miss 
Milly. 


160 THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


That is impossible — quite impossible ; she is a minor, 
and cannot legally contract marriage without the consent 
of her guardian, until she is of age. No ! she has eloped 
with this man, whom she cannot legally marry; and it 
appears, that even in this short time he has grown tired of 
her and deserted her ; and I have come very opportunely 
to rescue her from a life of sin.” 

“ Oh, ma’am, ma’am, how cruel of you to speak in that 
way of the very innocentest young couple as ever I seen in 
all my life ! just for all the world like two blessed children. 
I’ll never believe ill of them, ma’am — never!” said Miss 
Milly, shaking her head. 

Do you mean — do you dare to hint that I have slandered 
them !” sternly demanded the lady. 

“ Oh dear, no, ma’am I I don’t dare to do nothing at all. 
Only I wont believe no ill of that there blessed young couple 
— no ! if I die for not doing of it. So there now !” said Miss 
Milly, with her aged eyes flashing luridly, like an expiring 
fire, through her tears. 

Before the strange lady could reply to this speech, the 
door once more opened, and the doctor re-entered the room 

“ How is she, doctor ? how is the dear young creature ?” 
inquired Miss Milly, wiping her eyes. 

“ I must answer you as 3^ou answered me, using your 
own very words — ‘She is just the same,”’ replied the 
doctor. 

“ Will she get over it? Is there any hope ?” 

“ I do not know whether she will get over it. There is 
hope, of course. A few hours will decide her fate for life 
or death.” 

“ Can we do any thing now, doctor ?” 

“Very little. I have left full directions with the colored 
nurse, who seems, to be an intelligent and faithful woman,” 
said the doctor. 

“ A word with you, if you please, sir,” said the visitor, 
accosting the physician. 


T H K BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 101 

Certainly, madam!” exclaimed the latter, in surprise. 

“ I wish to speak of the unhappy young lady, your 
patient.” 

“ I am at your service, madam.” 

“ This young lady has been very imprudent, very unfor- 
tunate, and ah 1 I fear indeed, very culpable also,” said the 
lady, in a tone of deep feeling. 

Madam I” exclaimed the doctor. 

I never will believe it,” interrupted Miss Milly. 

A few words will explain how this matter stands : This 
young lady is my niece and my ward. About a month 
ago she eloped from my house with the young officer whom 
she calls her husband — but jTalsely calls so, because she is 
a minor, and cannot legally marry without the consent of 
her guardian — a consent that has never been given. I, her 
nearest living relative, as well as her guardian, have come 
in pursuit of her. I have arrived opportunely, when, as it 
seems, the unprincipled wretch who enticed her from her 
home has deserted her, and left her destitute and among 
strangers.” 

“ 1 am very much surprised and grieved at what you 
have told me, madam,” said the doctor, elevating his eye- 
brows. 

“ Oh, sir, don’t believe it ! Please don’t believe any 
think against them darling young folks. If they runned 
away it was for love. And if they is not married, they 
thinks they is, poor dears ! And I know they is, too. 
They’s two angels of goodness, they is ; and my brother 
thinks so, too ; and he is a priest, and he ought to know,” 
said Miss Milly^ earnestly. 

“ This simple, tender-hearted creature has been imposed 
upon. It is not worth our while to reply to her. What I 
wish to know is this, doctor — whether, if my unhappy 
young charge should awake to consciousness, it would be 
safe for me to announce mj^self to her,” said the lady. 

Judging from what you have told me, I should say it 
10 


162 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


would not be safe, madam. Under these unfortunate cir- 
cumstances, even if she were in good health, your sudden 
appearance would necessarily be very agitating to her; 
but in her very critical state, if she were to awake and 
find you near her, the sight of you might be fatal to her,^’ 
replied the doctor, coldly. 

It was a noticeable fact that all persons now spoke 
coldly to this lady. There was nothing that she said which 
might not have been strictly true ; there was nothing that 
she did which might not have been quite right ; yet her 
manner did not inspire confidence ; on the contrary, it en- 
gendered distrust. 

“ The life of the young lady is very, very dear to me, 
indeed,” she said, “and I shall be veiy careful how I make 
my presence known to her. I suppose that while she lays 
in this state of unconsciousness, I might, without danger 
to her, sit by her and watch ?” 

“If you would be very careful to note the first indica- 
tions of a return to consciousness, and retire before she 
could recognize you,” said the doctor. 

“ I should be sure to do that. And now. Miss Crane,” 
said the visitor, turning to Miss Milly, “as I understand 
that you take boarders, and as I wish to be on the spot to 
watch over my niece and ward, I would like to know 
whether 3^ou could accommodate me with a room.” 

“ I will call Jenn3" ; I never do any thing without con- 
sulting Jenny,” said Miss Millj", leaving the room. 

The doctor bowed and took his departure at the same 
moment. 

The visitor, who had been walking slowly up and down 
the floor, now sat down to wait the entrance of the sisters. 

Miss Milly soon returned, bringing in Miss Jenny. 

“Jenny,” she said, “this lady is Mrs. Mrs. 

Dear me, ma’am ! I am sure I beg your pardon, but I have 
forgot your name ! My memory do get very bad.” 

“ I do not know tl^at j-ou ever heard my name ; I am 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 1()8 

sure that I never announced it to yon. I am Mrs. Jay 
Llewellyn, of Kader Idrys, in Yirginia. I am the aunt and 
guardian of the young lady who boards with you. I also 
wish to obtain a room and board here, for a few weeks," 
that I may watch over my unhappy young charge during 
her illness,’’ said the visitor, addressing both sisters. 

“’Ee-es!” drawled Miss Jenny; “ certainly, ma’am ; I 
dare say ; but I will call Polly. We never do any thing 
without consulting Polly.” 

And Miss Jenny left the room, attended by Milly. And 
soon both returned, bringing in Miss Polly. 

Pollj^,” said Miss Jenny, “this lady is Mrs. Jane 
Louisa, of some place in Yirginia — I forget what ” 

“ I am Mrs. Jay Llewellyn, the guardian of the young 
lady up stairs. And I wish to board here to take care 
.of her, if I can be accommodated,” said the visitor, curtly. 

“ ’Ee-es ; certainly, ma’am ; but we will call Harriet : 
W e never do any thing of importance without consulting 
of Harriet, who is our housekeeper and right hand woman, 
said Miss Polly, going out, followed by both her sisters. 

Mrs. Llewellyn made a gesture of scorn and Impatience. 
But she had not long to wait. 

Soon the aged sisters re-entered, attended by their maid. 

“ Harriet,” said Miss Polly, “make the deepest courtesy 
to this lady. This lady is Mrs. James Lewis, the gardeen 
of the poor, sick young lady. Come to nurse her. ’Ee-es. 
Now I want to know if we can accommodate her com- 
fortably ?” 

Harriet made a half a dozen deep courtesies in quick 
succession, and then answered : < 

“ Here’s de back room a joining on to de young madam’s 
room. I would show dat to de ole madam. And she 
could see ef she’d like it.” 

“ Do so, then, Harriet. Ma’am, if you’ll be so good as 
to walk up stairs, she will show you the room. ” 

Mrs. Llewellyn arose, drawing her shawls around her, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


164 


and followed her conductor up stairs to a spacious, but 
plainly furnished back chamber, with one door opening on 
the passage and another door communicating with the 
room of Gladys. 

Mrs. Llewellyn threw open the back windows that over- 
looked the vegetable garden, poultry yard and corn-fields, 
and then by the light she turned to examine the room. 
She was apparently satisfied with it. She turned to Har- 
riet, saying : 

“ I suppose that you are really the only executive power 
in this house.” 

“ The which, ma’am ?” respectfully inquired the ])uzz\ed 
woman. 

“ You are the only business woman ?” 

“I sees to all de j^oung ladies’ business, yes, ma’am.” 

“ The young ladies ?” 

“The Miss Craneseses, ma’am, yes, ma’am.” 

Mrs. Llewellyn looked puzzled in her turn ; but was too 
busy to seek an answer to the riddle. She came at once to 
the question of board. 

“ What are the terms ?” she inquired. 

“Well, ma’am, fifteen dollars a month where a single 
pusson takes a large room to derself But when two takes 
it, we charges of ’em bof onl}^ twenty-five dollars a month,” 
said Harriet, folding her arms and rolling her fat person 
from side to side with good-natured importance. 

“ That will do. Perhaps I shall require extra comforts 
and attendance. If so, I will pay for them.” 

“Just so, ma’am. But now ders anoder question.” 

“And what is that ?” 

“ Long as de young gentleman is goed away without a 
settling for his board, or the young lady’s board, who is a 
gwine to settle for it ? that’s what I want to know,” said 
Harriet, respectfully. 

“ I shall. From this moment I assume all the debts, ex- 
penses, and responsibilities of this j^oung lady. You ma3’’ 
tell your mistresses so.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


165 


“ Yes, ma’am ; thankee, ma’am ; that’s very lion’able, in- 
deed ; I must say it ralely is.” 

“ That will do. I do not require your approbation. 
Attend me down stairs.” 

Tile visitor went below ; explained to the old ladies that 
she would like to enter upon her new lodgings that same 
afternoon ; received their courteous acquiescence ; and de- 
parted to settle her bill at her hotel, and to bring her lug- 
gage. 

After she was gone the three sisters put their ancient 
heads together, set their spectacles up on the top of their 
caps, and discussed the visitor. 

They did not, either of them, like her; and they did not 
know why ; her looks, words, and actions were unexception- 
able ; and so, after comparing notes one with another, the 
three good creatures decided that they themselves were in 
fault — being unjust and prejudiced ; and that Mrs. James 
Lewis must be altogether in the right. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE FELL WATCH. 

Days lay she in that state, unchanged though chill. 

With nothing livid; still her lips were red; 

She had no pulse, but death seemed absent still ; 

No hideous sign proclaimed her surely dead ; 

Corruption came not, in each mind to kill 
All hope ; to look upon her SAveet face bred 
New thoughts of life, for it seemed full of soul ; 

She had so much, earth could not claim the whole. — Byron. 

Early in the afternoon came Mrs. Jay Llewellyn, or 
Mrs. James Lewis, as the sisters called her. 

The lady established herself in the big back bedroom ad- 
joining Gladys’ chamber ; and then took up her watch by 
the bed. Baleful watcher ! She sent every one out of the 


166 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


way, and then opened a window to admit the light into the 
darkened room, and went to the bed to examine the face of 
the sick girl. 

Gladys lay upon her back ; the pillow had been withdrawn 
from under her head to favor the action of the heart and 
lungs in the functions of circulation and respiration. Her 
hands had been folded across her bosom in the attitude of 
prayer, and they rested there quiescent. Her long, black 
hair, unbound, floated down each side her white cheeks and 
neck, and lay in masses on the snowy coverlet, which was 
drawn straight upon the bed. Altogether, the aspect of the 
insensible girl was that of a beautiful corpse laid out for 
burial. 

Mrs. Jay took one of the docile hands and felt the pulse, 
and then shook her head as gravely as any doctor could 
have done, saying : 

“ She must not ’die ; or all our plans must fail I She 
must live, for through her all our chance of getting Kader 
Idris is gone! Failing her, the estate goes to a distant 
male relative in Wales. • She must live ! She must live 1 or 
all is lost I I will call in more advice.” 

And the lady dropped the poor, little, helpless hand, and 
left the room to write a note and find a messenger to take 
it to its address. 

That night, in answer to the summons, Doctor Seward, 
one of the eminent physicians of the day, arrived at Ceres 
Cottage to hold a consultation with the family medical at- 
tendant. 

The end of that consultation left the case where it found 
it; that is to say, the doctors decided that they could do 
nothing at present, but leave the patient to nature and 
await the issue. The highest attainment of medical science 
is to know when not to interfere. Perhaps to the knowledo^e 
of that rare secret Doctor Seward owed his great success 
in the profession. 

However that might be, Gladys, left to nature, lay calmly 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 167 

sleeping that death-like sleep until late the next morning. 
The room was in almost total darkness, and Mrs. Jay, who 
had watched all night, was sitting in the deepest shadow 
by the bed, when, with ears preternaturall}^ acute in the 
stillness of the room, she heard the sick girl stir, and, in a 
few seconds afterward, murmur: 

“ Wafer.” 

Fearing to put out this feeble light of life by anj^ shock, 
Mrs. Jay forbore to approach nearer the patient, but glided 
on tiptoes to the door, and went down stairs to the back 
parlor, where the ancienl; sisters were all three at work at 
their quilting-frame. 

They looked up simultaneously, as if asking with their 
eyes the question their lips were tired of framing : 

How is she ?” 

“ She is awake ; and conscious also, I think. I feared 
to approach her, lest the sudden sight of the guardian she 
deserted might overwhelm her. Will one of j^ou be kind 
enough to go up stairs ?” 

All three of the sisters shuffled up from their places, 
dropping scissors, spools, thimbles, et cetera, that all fell 
rattling upon the floor. 

“ One at a time, good friends. My poor girl* should be 
approached very gently,” Mrs. Jay remonstrated. 

Then I’ll go ; and you two stay here ; and tell Harriet'* 
to make that wine whey, and make it directly ; and let it 
be good and strong. For the doctor said, if she did wake 
in her right senses, she was to have thaf directly to 
strengthen her,” said Miss Polly, as she scuttled out of 
the room and up the stairs. 

She entered the sick chamber, drew the window-blind up 
a little way, and hurried to the bedside. 

Gladys was rolling restlessly about and moaning a half- 
unconscious cry of — 

Wafer, wafer, wafer!” 

Miss Polly hurried to the jug of ice-water that sat upon 
the side-table, filled a glass, and brought it to her. 


1G8 


THE BRIDE OF BLEW ELL Y,.N. 


How eagerly she quaffed the water, looking up into the 
old lady’s face with bright, grateful, questioning eyes, as 
if she enjoyed the drink, and thanked without fully recog- 
nizing the giver. 

Then, with a sigh of deep satisfaction, she sank back 
upon her pillow, and immediately dropped into a profound, 
healthful, natural sleep. 

Miss Polly stepped down stairs to report progress. 

The crisis is past, I am sure, and she is saved. I will 
■watch by her this afternoon.” 

Then she returned to the sick chamber and resumed her 
post. 

Gladys was sleeinng well, breathing regularly, and per- 
spiring moderately. 

“ Oh, she will get well ; she will get well said the old 
lady to herself. 

Miss Polly kept her post until dinner time, wdien she 
consented to be relieved for half an hour by Harriet. But 
as soon as she had eaten a hasty meal she returned again 
to the bedside of the beautiful young patient. 

Gladys slept on until late in the afternoon, and then 
awoke again. Seeing Miss Polly sitting by her, she calmly 
inquired : 

“ Has Arthur come in to his tea yet ?” 

Ah, by that question the good old lady knew that the 
poor girl’s faculties were not yet full}^ restored, and feared 
that they might not ever be. She answered prudentl}'', 
however : 

“^^o, my dear, he hasn’t come in just quite yet. This is 
earlier than he usually comes, you know.” 

“ Is it ? Why, I thought it was growing quite dark ; but 
now I see that the window-shutters are closed. Miss Polly, 
I don’t remember lying down here,” she said ; but her 
voice was growing very faint from the exertion of speaking 
these few words. 

Why, my dear, your head has been bad, and. you have 
been so sound asleep. You are hardly awake j^et.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 169 

“Yes; let me see — how was it?” said Gladys, putting 
her hand up to her head, and contracting her brows as if 
endeavoring to recollect. 

“ Oh, my dear, darling love, you mustn’t do that ; you 
mustn’t indeed ; you mustn’t try to think ; if you do it 
will make your head bad again !” Miss Polly exclaimed in 
alarm. 

“Was it — was it a sunstroheV^ Gladys inquired, in a 
failing voice. 

“Yes, my little angel, it was a stroke — a had stroke,” 
Miss Polly said, gladly seizing ui^on this explanation, and 
forgetting, as her patient did, that sunstrokes do not fall 
at such a season of the year as that was. 

“ But — how did it happen ?” 

“Now, my own dear pet, you mustn’t ask questions, 
nor puzzle your head ; you mustn’t talk, nor think, nor do 
nothing but eat and sleep. And now, my pretty darling, I 
am going to get you some nice wine whey, that will do you 
a world of good. And you must lie quite still, like a good 
pet, until I come back,” Miss Polly said, coaxingly, as if 
she were speaking to a young child. 

She flitted softly down stairs and soon returned with some 
rich, spicy port wine whe}^ whose aroma was in itself 
almost enough to revive the sinking vitality of that delicate 
patient. 

Holding up the head of Gladys with one hand, she admin- 
istered the refreshment with the other. 

“ There, open your mouth wide, my little bird, and take 
in a big teaspoonful at a time,” the good old lady said, 
being delighted to see Gladys swallow the liquid so eagerly. 

Miss Polly permitted Gladys to drink every drop, and 
then she bathed the patient’s hands and face with the re- 
freshing and composing rosemary water, and made her 
close her eyes and lie still. * 

Gladys was soon again asleep. Indeed the young lady’s 
return to life was very much like a new-born babe’s com- 


170 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


mencement of life — it was nothing hut sleeping, feeding and' 
trusting. 

In the evening the two physicians paid their usual con- 
sulting visit. Gladys was asleep when they arrived, and 
they would not awaken her. They made such an examina- 
tion as the circumstances permitted, took the report of Miss 
Polly, and then pronounced their patient out of immediate 
danger; hut warned Mrs. Jay Llewellyn that she must he 
exceedingly careful in announcing her presence to Gladys, 
lest the shock should he fatal to her recovery. Then leav- 
ing directions for the treatment of the patient during the 
night, and promising to come early in the morning, they de- 
parted. 

As soon as the doctors were gone, Mrs. Jay summoned 
the three sisters to the parlor for a consultation among 
themselves as to the best means of breaking the news of her 
arrival to Gladys. Miss Milly and Miss Jenny left their 
quilting-frames to obey the summons. And Miss Polly 
called Harriet to take her place by the bedside of the 
patient, and went down and joined 'the circle. The charac- 
ter of this consultation will be known by its results ; so it 
need not be detailed here. 

It is necessary, however, injustice to the Misses Crane, 
to say, that it was very long before Mrs. Jay could convince 
them of the propriety of sacrificing truth to expediency ; 
that Mrs. Ja}" took them no further into her confidence than 
absolute necessity demanded ; and that she persuaded them 
all was to be done only to save^he life or sanity of Gladys. 

If these excellent old ladies had trusted their first im- 
pressions of Mrs. Jay, they would never have trusted that 
lady herself. As it was, however, they had allowed their 
instincts to be overcome by the specious manners of the 
traitress. 

Miss Poll}^ undertook to break the news to Gladys, and 
also to deceive her with the “ pious fraud” that they had 
decided to put upon her ; but Miss Polly insisted upon 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 171 

being allowed to take her own time about it, and to wait 
until she should feel assured that Gladys was well enough 
to receive the communication. 

Tearfully Miss Polly went to resume her watch. 

“ I wonder whether I am justified I I wonder whether I 
am ! I wish they hadn’t put it upon me to do ! They 
know, at least my sisters know, that I can’t abear deceit, 
and never could ! I wish I could talk to a priest about it ! 
I do so! But that’s impossible now, because I must stay 
here and watch for her to w’ake. They say as how if she 
do wake, and find out he’s still a’missing, and s’posed to be 
. runned awa}", or murdered, as it would throw her back and 
drive her raving mad, or hurry her into her grave I Well, 
now, let me see ! AVouldn’t it ralely be more Christian in 
me, not to be so selfish about my own salvation, but to tell 
a little story and commit a little sin, that the good Lord 
would forgive because I should be sure to be sorry for 
having to do it, and so save this poor child’s life and 
reason ; than to go and blurt out the truth and drive her 
into the madhouse, or into the grave ? But then I don’t 
know, either. I do hate deceit worse nor poison ! And I 
don’t believe in ‘pious frauds ;’ nor likewise in ‘ doing evil 
that good may come ;’ nor moreover in ‘ the end a justify- 
ing the means ; nor none of that ; nor never did ; let them 
say what they may ! Oh I deary me ! why didn’t they get 
somebody as like lying better nor I do, to lie for them ? 
I don’t like lies, neither white nor black! And white lies 
must be worse than black ones, ’cause white shows dirt so !” 

Thus the old lady communed with herself, as she sat by 
the bedside of Gladys. 

Her firmness, however, was not put to the test that night. 
Youth, nature, and a good constitution were doing all that 
w\as possible for the patient’s recovery, in holding her now 
in a deep, healthful sleep. 

Miss Polly sat by her until midnight, and then, seeing 
that Gladys gave no signs of awakening, she summoned 
Harriet to relieve the watch. 


172 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


The colored woman came softly into the room. 

“ Harriet, I am tired to death with sitting np. I want 
3"ou to make me a bed on the floor here. Can you do it 
without making of a noise?” Miss Polly whispered. 

“ Of course I can, miss,” answered the woman, who im- 
mediately left the room to fetch the required bedding. 

When the bed was made. Miss Polly loosened all her 
clothes and laid down to rest, saying to Harriet : 

“ Yon will take my place by the poor j'Oung creetur’s 
bedside, and if she should wake you must not speak to her, 
but -yon must rouse me directly. If she should not wake, 
you must let me sleep until the dawn of day, and then 
wake me. And — above all things, you must be sure to — 
um — uni — . Above all things, you must — um — um — ^3^011 
must be sure — sure — um — m — me ” 

And with her sentence incoherent and unfinished. Miss 
Polly, worn out with watching, dropped into a deep sleep. 

And Harriet settled herself in the comfortable eas}^- 
chair, and she fell asleep. And Gladys also slept until 
morning. 

Miss Poll}^ was the first to wake. The light of day steal- 
ing through the slats of the window-shutters unsealed her 
eyelids. When she raised her head and looked around she 
saw that the room was in the first subdued light of morn- 
ing twilight. The night taper still burned on the mantel- 
piece ; the night watcher still slept in the easy-ohair ; the 
clock on the corner shelf pointed to the hour of six. 

“ Well ! upon my word I” Miss Polly said, indignantly, 
as she gazed upon the sleeping nurse and got out of bed to 
awaken her. She went up to the side of the patient’s bed 
and looked at Gladys, and found her sleeping wholesomel3^ 
Then she took the slumbering nurse by the shoulder and 
shook her rudely, saying : 

“Well, I declare! You’re a pretty one, aint 3^011, to 
leave by a sick-bed ? Wake up, 3^011 great, heavy, addle- 
headed thing !” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 173 

Harriet started, yawned, stretched herself, stared and 
exclaimed : 

‘‘Well, lors I I do believe as I must a drapped off to 
‘ sleep !” 

“ I believe you have slept the whole night through ! you 
unfaithful creetur I” Miss Polly wrathfully exclaimed. And 
the old lady was so far right as that Harriet had slept 
soundly on her post ever since she had taken it. 

“ Indeed, indeed, indeed. Miss Polly, ef it wer’ de lastest 
word I had to speak in dis world, I jus’ dis minute done 
los’ myse’f a-noddin’ a bit !” Harriet answered so earnestl}^ 
that Miss Polly was obliged to believe her. And the black 
woman really thought that she was speaking the truth, 
because her sleep of six hours had been so deep that it had 
annihilated time, and she supposed that ^ she had only 
winked for an instant and then opened her eyes again. 

“ Well, then, since you have not been asleep, tell me how 
Mrs. Colonel Pollard has passed the night ?” ^ 

“ Oh, ma’am, she have slept like a angel.” > 

“ Yery well, then. Now you go down and have the ket- 
tle boiling, ready to make her a cup of tea the minute she 
wakes.” 

The colored woman arose, yawned, stretched her limbs 
and went out to do her mistress’s bidding. 

Miss Polly removed the bedding she had used from the 
room, made every thing tidy, and then attended to her own 
simple toilet. And when that was completed she took her 
seat beside Gladys. She sat there long and patiently while 
the sleeper slept as only an infant or a convalescent can. 

At last Miss Polly, feeling oppressed by the closeness of 
the room, thought that even the sleeping patient would be 
the better for a little fresh air, and therefore arose and 
hoisted one of the windows, and partly opened one of the 
shutters. The fresh air revived the old lady so much that 
she thought she would go and see how it affected Gladys. 
She went to the bedside and stooped over the sleeper to 
examine her by the light of daj^ 


174 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Yes ! Gladys was fast recovering. She was sleeping the 
fine restorative sleep of convalescence ; her breathing was 
regular, her pulse calm, her skin moist, her cheek flushed, 
not with fever, but with returning life. 

“Well, thank heaven for this,’’ said the old lady, fer- 
vently. 

Almost at the same moment, Gladys opened her beauti- 
ful eyes, and looked serenely into the face of her nurse. 

“ Where is Arthur, Miss Polly ? Has he already risen 
and gone away ?” inquired Gladys, still evidently a little 
confused in mind, though so well restored in body. 

“ Ye-ye-yes, my dear, he is gone away,” faltered the old 
lady, who was not prepared for the style in which her 
patient put this question. 

“ Oh, dear I why did he go away without bidding me 
good-morning?” Gladys fretfully inquired. 

“Why, don’t you know, my dear lovey, that your poor 
head has been very bad, and that you have been asleep ? 
It would not have been safe to have waked you.” 

“Did he get his breakfast quite comfortable. Miss Polly?” 

“ Quite comfortable, my dear.” 

“But I wish he had waked me ! How could that have 
hurt me ? T am all right ?” 

“Yes, dear, you’re all right now, because you have had 
such a good sleep ; but you were not all right then.” 

“ I don’t know, I don’t remember ! It seems to m^ that 
some one told me, or else I dreamed I had a sunstroke. 
Was that it ?” 

“ Yes, dear, it was a stroke — (ah, a heavy, heavy stroke) !” 
— added the old lady, mentally, as she arose and brought 
a basin of water and a towel to wash her patient’s face and 
hands. When she had done this, she combed her hair. And 
then she rang for Harriet to bring up the tea and toast ; 
and propped Gladys up in bed, and sat the tray before her. 

Glad3'S ate and drank with all the avidity of a young 
convalescent ; but while she did so, shadows of thought or 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 175 

of pain would pass over her expressive face, and she would 
look up anxiously and inquiringly at Miss Polly. When 
she had finished her meal, and Harriet had removed the 
tray and left the room, Gladys turned to her kind nurse, 
and said : 

“ Miss Polly, there was something before my illness that 
I am trying to recollect, but cannot ; thick shadows lie all 
around that period.” 

Miss Polly sighed deeply, crossed herself, and sent up a 
mental appeal to the “ Mother of Sorrows” to help this 
afflicted daughter, and then answered : 

“Yes, dear, there was a something ; but it is all right 
now.” 

“What — what was it. Miss Polly?” 

“ There now, don’t be alarmed ! nothing but what might 
have been expected, dear — no harm !” 

“ What was it ? Oh, tell me. Miss Polly ! It was some- 
thing about Arthur !” exclaimed Gladys, trembling, but 
not much, for extreme debility had weakened her sensibili- 
ties, and she did not feel as much as she might have done 
in her full strength ; and, besides, the words of Miss Polly 
were rather encouraging than otherwise. 

“ Yes, my dear, it was a somethink about Arthur ; but it 
was somethink very fine about Arthur ! so you have cause 
to rejoice, rather than to lament.” 

“ Tell me ! tell me !” said the young wife, eagerly. 

“Well, you know, my love, that when you asked me just 
now if he had risen and gone away alread^q I told you 
yes.” 

“ Of course you did.” 

“ Well, my dear, I told you true ; but it was not this 
morning that he went away, but several mornings ago.” 

“ Yes — yes — I begin to see light — I am almost on the 
verge of remembering all about it ! If you will let me 
study a minute I shall know it all!” Gladj^s said, as she 
clasped her head with both hands, closed her eyes, and 
contracted her brows in intense thought. 


176 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“No, my dear, don’t you try to think, for it will only 
make your poor little head bad again. I will bring it all 
back to your mind, and tell you more besides.” 

“Do then. Miss Polly.” 

“ Well, my dear, you know that last morning — a Sunday 
morning it w^as — when he got his breakfast all comfortable 
and went away, promising to come back in the evening ?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you know you went to meet him ? And you didn’t 
meet him, but you met us coming from church, and we 
brought you home ?” 

“ Yes, oh 3^es — I remember that I What else ?” 

“ Why, that he didn’t come at all that evening, nor the 
next day ; and so you were taken ill ; and you have been ill 
ever since.” 

“ Oh, yes I but about Arthur ! where is he ?” 

“ He is all right ! He never come back to the house at 
all, and good reason ! For when he was on his way from 
his ship to his wife that identical Sunday evening as he 
never come home, he was met by a messenger from the 
Secretary of — of — of ” 

Miss Polly had forgotten her lesson, and she stopped in 
confusion. 

“ Of the Navy ?” suggested Gladys. 

“ Yes, honey, in course, of the Navy. He was met by a mes- 
senger of the Secretary of the Navy a-bringing of a written 

order for him to report to the Navy De — De — De ” 

Miss Polly was at a loss again. 

“ Department?” prompted Gladys. 

“That’s it — Department! To report to the Navy De- 
partment. And so he did immediate, Sunday though it 
was. And when he got there, the Secretary handed of him 
a commission which raised him to the rank of — of ” 

“ Captain ?” suggested Gladys, wonderingly. 

“ No, it was a somethink that commenced with a ^com.’ 
Let’s see. Committee? — no! Commissioner? — no! Com- 
modore ? — 3’es ! I reckon that was it, honey — commodore !” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 177 

“But they don’t raise lieutenants to the rank of commo- 
dore at one hoist, Miss Polly. I don’t know much of the 
regulations of the service ; but I know that much. Wasn’t 
it commander you were trying to think of?” smiled Gladys. 

“ Oh, yes ! surely so it was I What an old fool head mine 
is to be sure. Commander ! sartainly. I might have known 
it, because he was ordered by the Secretary to go imme- 
diate to Norfolk to take command of the ship Potomac. I 
remember that well enough, because it is the name of our 
river.” 

“And is he in Norfolk ?” eagerly exclaimed Gladys. 

“Yes, honey. He had to go and start immediate. He 
begged leave to come home and get his wife and take her 
along with him. But the Secretary told him there was a 
boat to start for Norfolk in a half a hour’s time, and how he 
would only have time to hurry to the wharf and jump 
aboard of her. And as how he could write to his wife, and 
she could follow him and bring all his clothes. And, last 
of all, as how it was a officer’s duty always, and especially 
after being promoted, to obey orders directly and without 
grumbling. And so our one obeyed at** once, and hurried 
down to the wharf, and jumped aboard the steamboat, and 
started to take command of his fine new ship. And while 
we all was a-fretting over his disappearance, he was a-going 
where glory waits him.” 

“ Oh, Miss Polly, you have made me so happy. But are 
you sure that this is indeed true, and not a false report ?” 
eagerly demanded Gladys. 

“ Why, in course it is true, my dear. How ever can it be • 
false when there’s the dokkerments to show for it ? And 
didn’t a messenger come here the very day you went out 
of your head ? And didn’t he bring a message from him, 
how you was to pack right up and folly him to Norfolk ? 
And didn’t he bring you a sum of money to settle the 
board, and to buy you an outfit, and to pay your expenses 
to Norfolk? Which that said sum of money is ia your 
11 


178 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


bury-clrawer at this present speaking ? Which, if you don’t 
believe me, there is the money to prove it. And if you 
don’t believe that, you can go right down to Norfolk soon as 
ever you are able to travel and see for yourself,” said Miss 
Polly, now quite out of breath with vehement lying. 

“ Oh, dear, dear friend ! how happy this makes me. Of 
course I believed you at first, only it seemed too good 
news to be reall” said Gladys, earnestly; for, not with 
standing her innocent boast that she knew “ something” of 
the regulations of the service, she was 'really too ignorant 
and too inexperienced to be aware how unlikely it was that 
this story should be true. “ How happy you have made 
me,” she said, kissing Miss Polly’s withered hand. 

“ Ah I haven’t I though, honey, neither !” exclaimed the 
old lady, joyfully. (“And won’t I have to pay for doing 
of it by years of sarvitude in purgatory neither I” she 
added ruefully.) 

“ But, oh. Miss Polly, I have just thought of something !” 
said Gladys, with anxiety. 

“And what is that, my dear?” inquired the old lady in 
alarm ; for she was in constant dread of having her “ white 
lies” discovered. 

“ Why, Miss Polly ! I have been ill so many, many days I 
What if the ship should have sailed during my illness ?” 

“ No fears of that, honey. The ship haven’t sailed. It is 
one of these ere store-ships as have got to stop where it is 
for a bit,” said the old lady at a venture. 

“ Is it, indeed ! That is good. I am so glad,” exclaimed 
the young wife, who now accepted every thing that was 
told her as truth, because, perhaps, she was too much en- 
feebled in mind and body by her recent illness to be 
critical. 

“ Yes, honey, that is firstrate ; because he won’t have to 
gato sea and leave you for some time,” said the old lady, 
rubbing her hands as though she were really beginning to 
enjoy her new role of lying. At least she enjoyed the 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 179 


pleasure she was imparting to the poor, bereaved young 
wife, of whom no friend could say with certainty whether 
she were deserted or widowed. 

> “ But, oh ! I say, Miss Polly, how very uneasy, how 

dreadfully anxious poor Arthur must have been, and must 
still be, at not hearing from me — not even getting an 
answer to his message all this time !” 

“Oh, no! oh dear, no I not at all; b}^ no means. We 
writ to him, and told him as how you wasn’t just that well 
as we could wish you to be for to set out on to a journey ; 
but as soon as you was better you would folly him.” 

“ Ah 1 that was very kind, very thoughtful. How good 
you are to us I Heaven bless you 1” exclaimed Gladys, 
fervently. 

(“Well, I hope it will. I’m sure I need it! A-lying,- 
and a-sinning, and a-sinking of my soul farther and farther 
and farther down into the bottomless pit, every time I open 
my mouth !”) said Miss Polly to herself. 

“ When did you write to dear Arthur last, and when did 
you hear from him last ?” vehemently inquired Gladys. 

“Well, honey, I writ to him a-Monday, and I got an 
answer back from him a-Thursday. And this is Saturday.” 

“Was he quite well then ?” • 

“ Oh, yes, indeed, honey.” 

“ How often do you write to him, and how often does he 
answer?” 

“Well, honey, I most in general writes to him a-Mon- 
days, and he most in general writes to me so I get the 
letters a-Thursdays.” 

n “ Miss Polly, does he ask very, very particularly about 
me ?” 

“ Oh, yes, dear ! very, very particular !” 

“ Will you let me see his letters ? Run and get them for 
me — ^that’s a good soul !” said Gladys, eagerly. 

“ Oh, my dear, dear child, I darn’t — indeed I darn’t ! 
The doctor said as how I wasn’t to let you try your eyes 


180 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


onto nothing, especially letters. But I can tell you this: 
they are all chuckful of the best of news and the truest of 
love. He is all right, and quite well, and very hopeful, and 
looking forrard with the greatest of joy to your arrival,’’ 
said Miss Polly, cheerfully. (“ Here I go, lying faster than 
a horse can trot 1”) she added lugubriously to herself. 

“When I get a little stronger, you must let me read 
them all. Miss Polly.” 

“ To be sure I will, my dear.” 

“ When will you write to him again ? You will not wait 
until Monday to do so, will you ?” 

“ Oh, no, my dear. It is my intentions for to write to- 
day, and tell him the joyful news, as how you are recover- 
ing fast,” said the old lady gleefully. (“ There they are 
— a whole lot of fresh ones, to be set down to my ac- 
count !”) she added, mentally. 

“ Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Miss Polly! Write 
at once; write now, this minute I That is a good, kind, 
sweet soul ! Do, Miss Polly I” exclaimed Gladys, earnestly. 

“Ahem 1 There’s time enough, my dear. The mail 
don’t go out until nine o’clock at night. (There’s another 
one ; oh !)” 

While she was groaning under her increasing burden of 
sin, there came a rap at the door. 

Miss Polly went to open it. 

“ Breakfast is ready, miss, and I have come to stop with 
the lady while you go down,” said Harriet, who stood at 
the door. 

, “ Yery well ; but you needn’t come in, nor likewise stand 
there. The lady don’t want no watching now. So you can 
go down stairs and mind your work, and I will come 
presently,” said Miss Polly, shutting the door in the face 
of Harriet, for the colored woman was not a party to the 
“ pious fraud” with which the conspirators had determined 
to deceive Gladys, and therefore it was not considered safe 
that she should be left alone with her, lest by some inad- 
vertent word she should undeceive her. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 181 

Having shut the dangerous intruder out, Miss Polly 
went back to the bedside of the patient, and said : 

“ Now, my dear lovey, I am going down stairs to get a 
bit of breakfast ; and I shahi’t be gone over ten minutes 
or a quarter of an hour. Now you lay hear, and look 
through the half-open shutter of that window, and look out 
onto the trees and fields and sky, which I never did see a 
finer day nor this is for the season of the year. Now will 
you 

“Yes, I will. Thank you, dear, good, kind. Miss Polly. 
Kiss me, before you go,” said Gladys, putting up her face 
and lifting her arms. 

Miss Polly stooped and kissed her, receiving her inno- 
cent embrace with some compunction, and then she turned 
and left the room, locking the door and taking away the 
key, lest Harriet should intrude. 

“ I never did see such a propensity as people have for 
locking me up I I must have been born under a prison 
star, if there is such a one 1’^ said Gladys, with a rueful 
smile. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

ON THE ROAD TO RUIN. 

Easy is the descent to hell. — Horace. 

— Paved with good intentions. — Proverb. 

Meanwhile Miss Polly hurried away, groaning within 
herself : 

“ Oh, what a lost and ruined sinner I am, to be sure I 
Oh, what a hardened, reckless Judas Askharriet I ami To 
be a-taking of her sweet, soft, loving kisses, and to be a-de- 
ceiving of her in this way 1 Why, I almost hate myself, I 
do ! I wouldn’t wonder at any thing as I might be tempted 


182 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


to do now ! I wouldn’t wonder if I was to take to stealing 
as well as lying 1 and then to murdering as well as stealing I 
Oh, of course, for there aint no stopping a-sliding down 
this precipice. I’m going straight to the bottomless pit, 
and I know it !” 

As Miss Polly breathed these awful words, she opened 
the door of the dining-room, where she found her two sisters 
and Mrs. Llewellyn already seated at the breakfast. 

“ How is your patient ?” inquired the last-mentioned 
lady. 

“ Oh, she’s all right, bless her ! It’s me as is going to my 
ruin,” whimpered Miss Polly. 

“Why?” demanded the lady. 

“ Why all along of lying I and of deceiving of a heavenly 
angel!” snapped Miss Polly, savagely. 

“ But we deceive her now to soothe her mind and save 
her life. When she grows stronger and is able to bear the 

o o 

news, we will undeceive her. And, meantime, we will hope 
that before it is necessary to give her so much pain, the re- 
appearance of Arthur may set every thing right,” said Mrs. 
Llewelljm. 

“ I hope to goodness gracious it ma}^ ; but how can it, 
when you say as the marriage isn’t legal ?” snivelled Miss 
Polly. 

“We will have the eeremony performed over again in my 
presence and with my consent, and that will make it legal,” 
said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“Well, I do hope as the dear young man will turn up, 
that I do I” said Miss Polly, and, somewhat mollified by 
this view of the case, she began to eat her breakfast. 

“ Have you broken to her the news of my presence in the 
house?” inquired Mrs. Jay. 

“No; do you think I w^ould stuff two hot potatoes 
into her mouth at the same time ? No I I told her lies 
about her husband to-day. To-morrow I will tell her lies 
about you,” growled Miss Polly, who then gave her serious 
attention to her coffee and muffins. 


THS! BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 183 

It is just as well, perhaps,’’ said Mrs. Jay. 

Miss Polly did not linger long over the table. She swal- 
lowed her breakfast with unwholesome haste, and returned 
to Gladys. 

“ Why did you lock the door, dear Miss Polly ? I have 
an especial dislike to being locked in,” were the first words 
of the 3 ^oung lady. 

“ Why, honey, you see — (Wo?/; what lie shall I make up ?) 
— honey, 3 ’^ou see, as I was afraid as Brother Peter — that is 
the priest, you know, as is a-staying in the house — might 
a-made a mistake in the door and walked into your room, 
which as you couldn’t get up to fasten it yourself, you 
know ” 

“ Yes, I know. Thank you, Miss Polly. You are always 
so thoughtful I Now wont you please get pen and ink and 
paper and write to Arthur. And write on the stand by my 
bedside. And when you have written your letter, I want 
you to write one for me, which I will dictate.” 

“Yes, honey, yes, to be sure ! (Here I go, down, down, 
down the precipice I From telling of lies, I’m a-takiug to 
writing of ’em I And that’s — why that’s forgery 1 — forgery! 
I knew it ! I said so I I felt I couldn’t stop m^^self when I 
once entered the broad road that leadeth to destruction I 
From lying I have got on to forging. And by next week I 
shall be ready to begin stealing ; and the week arter that, 
murdering. And where will it all end ? What next ? Wh}^ 
I shall be a Pirate on the High Seas afore I die, I know I 
shall I”) thought Miss Polly, raising her dim blue ej^es and 
trembling old hands in horror as she left the room to bring 
stationery. 

And when she returned she seated herself beside Gladys 
and wrote the two factitious letters that were to deceive 
the young wife and give her peace. 

“The post-office is a long way from here, I know. Who 
is to take the letters, dear Miss Polly ? inquired Gladys. 

“ Why brother Peter, honey, in course, he always does. 
(There’s another one.)” 


184 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELI/YN. 


“And will you ask him to inquire if there are any letters 
for any of us? You know there might chance to be one 
from Arthur, although it isn’t 3^our regular day for expect- 
ing one.” 

“ Yes, honej^, I will tell him,” said Miss Polly, who then 
left the room for the ostensible purpose of dispatching the 
letters. 

But instead of sending them off, on their fruitless mis- 
sion, she just put them into the kitchen fire and watched 
them until they were burned to light ashes. 

“ Umph — humph, I am a-getting along I Oh, I am a-get- 
ting along famously I The Devil must approve of me. Now 
from lying and forging I have come to intercepting of letters 
— thaVs stealing ; and a-burning of letters — thaVs arson I 
aint I a-going of it with a rush, neither ? I ralely do think 
as I never heerd of a human creetur as was a-going to de- 
struction faster ’n I’m a-going I And the worst feature in 
iny case is, as I’m a-getting so hardened, as it don’t seem 
to hurt my conscience no more. Sinning seems as easy as 
eating,” said Miss Poll}'-, communing dolefully with herself, 
as she returned to her charge. 

She found Gladys, after the excitements of the forenoon, 
fast asleep. And so Miss Polly returned to the kitchen to 
prepare a delicate meal, that it might be ready for the 
patient by the time she should awake. 

As Gladys ate with a relish that day and' slept soundly 
that night and awoke refreshed the next morning, it was 
agreed between the sisters and their guest that the patient 
should now be informed of her aunt’s arrival. 

Accordingly, when Gladys had been washed and combed, 
and had had her bedding and her clothing changed, and had 
been further refreshed by a good breakfast. Miss Polly 
seated herself beside the convalescent and began: 

“You feel well and bright and cheerful this morning, 
honey, don’t you now 

“Yes, dear Miss Polly, thanks to your kind and tender 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 185 

care of me, I feel quite comfortable, and also quite equal to 
the pleasant task of reading Arthur’s letters. Will you 
let me have them now ?” 

‘‘No, my dear, not 3^et ; you really mustn’t try your e3^es 
yet. Wait until to-morrow. (And to-morrow, thank good- 
ness, that proud madam will have to do the lying for her- 
self),” said Miss Polly, speaking of course the first part of 
this paragraph to Gladys, and the second part to herself. 

“ Then to-morrow I may see them.” 

“ I shan’t make no objections myself, honey, (Mrs. James 
Lewis may do as she pleases),” said the old lady, speaking 
as before — half aloud to Gladys, half mentally to herself. 

“ Very well, then, I will look forward to to-morrow,” said 
Glad3"s, smilingly. 

“And now, lovey, I have something else to tell 3^ou,” 
said Miss Polly, gently caressing her black hair. 

“ What is it. Miss Polly ?” inquired Glad3^s, carelessly, as 
she lay playing idly with her own white, tapering fingers. 

“It is something very pleasant about a friend o’ 3^ourn.” 

“ Oh I it is about Arthur. He is coming to see me. Per- 
haps he is here already I” eagerly exclaimed Gladys. 

“No, honey — he isn’t here ; he’s aboard his ship at Nor- 
folk. Nor likewise is it about him as I’m a-talking to you ; 
but about another good friend of yourn.” 

“ I have no other friend in the world. Miss Polly.” 

“ No other 1 Oh, that sounds very harsh and onthank- 
ful I You have a many friends,” said the old lady, reproach- 
fully. 

“ I mean I have no others after Arthur, except yourself 
and your sisters. I did not forget your kindness when 
3^ou spoke, believe me. Miss Polly. But after you, I have 
no other friend.” 

“ Oh, yes, lovey, 3^ou have I You think you haven’t, 
because you have had a little falling out with your rela- 
tions. But they are ready to forget and forgive. And I 
hope you are ready to be reconciled to them.” 


186 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


‘‘Oh, Miss Polly 1 what do you mean?” exclaimed 
Gladys, beginning to tremble. 

“ I mean nothing but what is perfectly pleasant, honey, 
so don’t be scared,” said Miss Polly, also beginning to 
tremble for company. 

“ What friend are you talking of, then ? Oh, do speak ?” 

“Now, don’t, honey — now, don’t agitate yourself The 
friend I mean — which she is a good friend — is the motherly 
lady as your dear parents left you in the care of.” 

“ You speak of Mrs. Jay Llewellyn 1 Oh I Heaven help 
me.” And Gladys covered her face with her hands. 

“ Now, don’t take on so, honey — now don’t. She’s come 
of a friendly errand ; she is, indeed.” 

“She is here, then!” cried Gladys, wildly, dropping 
her hands, and staring at the speaker. 

“ Oh, now, my dear, darling dovey, don’t look that-a- 
way, or I wont tell you any more about it 1 She’s come to 
do you good, she is.” 

“ She has come to separate me from my husband if she 
can.” 

“No, no, no — she aint I She’s willing to forgive and 
forget, she is.” 

“She willing to forgive and forget !” cried the young 
wife, indignantly. 

“ Yes, my dear, she is. And, let me tell you, though you 
don’t seem to see it, there may be a good deal to forgive 
and forget. Only young people, especially young lovers, 
is so onreasonable that they think every body in the world, 
especially their own kinsfolks is wrong, and only them is 
right.” 

“ Oh ! you don’t know — ^you don’t know. Miss Poll}^ I 
must tell you all about it.” 

“ I know this, lovey : I know that since in this house 
she’s been, she’s watched over you with all the loving kind- 
ness of the tenderest of mothers.” 

“ She watched beside m3^ sick bed ! Oh, angels in heaven ! 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 187 

to think that, while I lay insensible and helpless, my dread- 
ful enemy sat beside me, glaring on me with her baleful 
eyes And Gladys shuddered, and covered her head. 

“ Well, honey, you needn’t hide your face from me. You 
can’t think as Tm a glaring enemy, baling on you with my 
dreadful eyes,” whimpered Miss Polly, snivelling, and 
wiping her dim, meek, little orbs. i 

“ Oh ! Miss Poll3% if you knew — if you only knew. But 
I will tell you all about it. I will tell you at once ; for I 
believe that it will try me less to tell the whole story than 
to keep it to myself.” 

And in a vehement, earnest, indignant manner she poured 
out the story of her betrothal, her parents’ death, her lover’s 
return, and Mrs. Llewellyn’s treachery ; and of her own 
subsequent imprisonment, elopement, and marriage. 

Throughout the breathless recital. Miss Polly, also breath- 
less, sat staring with open eyes and mouth. At its close, 
she said : 

“ That’s the dreadfullest story as ever I heard I But 
maybe it isn’t as bad as you think, deary. The old man — 
your pappy — might a-changed his mind, and writ them 
letters arter all. Old men is so changeable, ’specially when 
they’re a-failing. I knew an old gent as made his will 
nineteen times in his last illness ; and then tored up the 
nineteenth will, and was just a-going to sign the twentieth, 
when he died I And a good job, too ; for the law, which 
aint so fickle-minded, made a more juster will than any he 
ever did. So, you see, the old man, your pappy, might 
a-changed his mind and writ them letters. And then it 
was nateral like, as your aunt should a-wanted you for her 
own son, for who wouldn’t like a darter-in-law like you ? 
So you musn’t blame her too much for using harsh measures 
with you, lovey. And anyways, now that you have taken 
this t’other young man, and it can’t be helped no way in 
the world, your aunt, she’s willing to let by-gones be by- 
gones, and to forget and forgive, and to be reconciled like 


188 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Christian relations ; which she has travelled all the way 
from Yirgiiiny to this place to tell 3^ou about it ; and she 
found 3"ou onsensible ; and she watched by you day and 
night, faithful ; and she alwa^^s slipped awa^" the minute 
)^ou showed signs of waking up, for fear the sight of her 
might shock 3^ou ; but now that j^ou are so much better, 
she has asked me to come and break to you the news of 
her arrival, and find out when 3^011 can see her.” 

“ I cannot see her at all, Miss Polly !” said Gladys, 
firml3''. 

“ But, my dear child, your aunt, your guardian, the lady 
as was placed over 3^ou by 3^our dear deceased parients, 
who must a-knowed her better nor 3^ou could, and trusted 
her, else they never would have left you to her ; and the 
lad3^ as has nussed you so tenderly ; and as is so wfilling to 
forgive and forget ” Miss Polly expostulated. 

Oh, I see, she has cast a glamour over 3^ou, as she did 
over my poor father, and as she did over me. I will not 
see her ! I cannot see her I I cannot trust her, and that is 
the long and short of it. Miss Polly,” said Gladys, turning 
her head to the wall. 

And all the old lady’s arguments could not prevail on 
her to change this decision. 

Well, then, all that’s left is for me to go down and tell 
this to Mrs. James Lewis, and let her do as she likes,” said 
Miss Polly, rising. 

“ Mrs. who ?” inquired Gladys, turning her head. 

“Mrs. James Lewis, my dear, your aunt.” 

In the midst of her vexation Gladys laughed. 

“Yes, Miss Polly,” she said, “you may go and take my 
answer to Mrs. James Lewis. And if 3^ou will give me the 
Bible, I will read until you come back.” 

“ Yes, my dear ; but you wont find nothing in that good 
book to encourage of 3^ou in a unforgiving disposition 
tow^ard them as you think is 3^our enemies when the3^ aint; 
nor likewise ondutifulness to jjastors and masters I” said 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 189 


the old lady, as she took the pocket-hible from the dress- 
ing-table and put it in the hands of Gladys. 

Miss Polly went down stairs to report. She was not 
easy in her mind. She felt it to be a sort of duty to try to 
patch up a peace between the bereaved and desolate young 
wife and the only protector she was likely to find in this 
world ; yet she could not fully trust Mrs. Jay Llewellyn. 
All that lady’s plausibility failed to inspire her with full 
confidence. She suspected Mrs. Llewellyn, and blamed 
herself for doing so ; the story told by Gladys strengthened 
this suspicion, but did not quite confirm it ; and, upon the 
whole, she was still inclined to favor the reconciliation be- 
tween Gladys and her guardian as the best thing that could 
happen for the unprotected young creature. 

So she went straight to the parlor where Mrs. Llewellyn 
sat alone. 

“ Well inquired that lady, looking up. 

Well, ma’am, it aint so very well.” 

“You have told my niece of my presence in the house ?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Miss Polly, sitting down and sighing. 

“ And — what did she say ? Why can you not tell me, 
woman ?” 

“ ’Cause, ma’am, it aint so pleasant to tell. Mrs. Colonel 
Pollard shrinks from seeing you, ma’am.” 

“ That is quite natural. But you should have explained 
to her how willing I am to forget the past, and receive her 
in my arms again.” 

“ I did, ma’am ; I told her every thing as j^ou told me to 
tell her ; but it didn’t do no good. She said she couldn’t 
see you.” 

“You are an old lady, able to speak with authority to 
the young. You should have reminded her of her duty.” 

“ I did so, ma’am, but she didn’t seem to see it.” 

“ What obstinacy I Ah ! this will never do ! I must 
leave here within a few days, and she must be prepared to 
accompany me.” 


190 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Oh, ma’am, for mercy’s sake, don’t ask me to prepare 
her no more for nothing else ! I’ve done sunk my soul 
half way down to the bottomless pit, along of preparing of 
her now ! If you would only take the rest of it on to your- 
self, ma’am, now, it would be a great load olfen my mind I” 
pleaded Miss Polly. 

‘‘ Don’t be alarmed. Miss Polly. I relieve you from your 
unpleasant charge from this hour. And all I ask of you is 
that you will not contradict any thing that you have here- 
tofore said to her, and that you will not interfere between 
me and my niece,” said Mrs. Jay. 

“ Me interfere ! The laws bless you, ma’am, I am too 
glad to wash my hands of the whole on it I Only I hope 
and pray as you will be good to the poor, dear young 
creeter !” said Miss Polly, earnestly. 

“ Have I not always been good to her ?” 

“ Ever since I knowed you, ma’am, you has, that’s 
certain.” 

Then I always shall be good to her. And from this hour 
I assume the exclusive charge of my niece. I shall prepare 
her to leave the house in a few days,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, 
as she left the room to go to the chamber of Gladys. 

Miss Polly gazed after her, murmuring : 

“ Oh, dear I I hope it ma^^ turn out well I” 


CHAPTEH XY. 

THE VULTURE AND THE DOVE. 

Such protection as vultures give to doves, 

Covering and devouring them. — Schiller. 

Mrs. Llewellyn w^ent softly up the stairs and rapped 
gentl}^ at the door of the sick room. 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


191 


“ Come in,’’ said the sweet voice of Gladys, who proba- 
bly expected no one but some member of her landlady’s 
kindly household. 

Mrs. Llewellyn entered, and walked quietly up to the 
side of the bed, and said, calmly : 

I am glad to find you so much better, my dear.” 

Gladys gazed at her with an expression of countenance 
something between consternation and defiance, and an- 
swered nothing. 

“You will soon be quite well now, my love,” continued 
the lady, sitting down in the easy-chair by the bed and 
taking the patient’s hand. 

But Gladys snatched her hand away without deigning to 
reply. 

“My love, you should not meet mj^ friendly advances in 
this spirit,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, in a gently reproachful 
tone, as she bent over the girl. 

But Gladys turned her face to the wall and continued 
silent. 

Mrs. Llewellyn was a woman not easily embarrassed. 

“ Gladys,” she said, “ I think that you mistake the mo- 
tive I have in coming to see you.” 

“ I do not. I feel that you come here to try to part me 
from my husband 1 To try, for that is all you can do ; you 
cannot part us ! And I think it is cowardly as well as 
cruel of you, Mrs. Jay, to force yourself upon me in the 
absence of my husband, and when I am ill, and alone, 
and helpless,” said the young wife, without turning her 
head. 

“Ah ! you speak at last, and now we shall come to under- 
stand each other. I knew that you had mistaken my ino- 
tive in conj.ing here. I have come, Gladys, not to attempt 
to separate you from your husband, because that would now 
be unlawful as well as harsh ; but I have come to be recon- 
ciled to you both ; to give you both my blessing ; to invite 
you to Kader Idris j and to yield up possession of the es- 
tate to you.” 


192 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

Gladys turned her head around and gazed at the speaker 
in astonishment. 

“Well, you may stare, my love; but such as I have 
stated it is my purpose in seeking you. It is true that I 
did my best to prevent you from making what I considered 
a very foolish marriage, which was also very distasteful to 
your parents ; but you have made it. ‘ What’s done is 
done and now nothing remains for me but to make the 
best of it and do what is right to be done on my part; and 
that is, to give the right hand of fellowship to you both, 
and to install you in the possession of your home and your 
estate. Will you give me your hand now, Gladys ?” 

“Aunt Llewellyn,” said the young wife, hesitatingly, “if 
I have wronged you, I earnestly ask your forgiveness and 
that of the Lord. But I feel confused and uncertain ; fori 
am but a poor, simple country-girl, after all ; and I am 
weak in mind and body from the eifects of my recent ill- 
ness,” said Gladys, as she held out her hand. 

“And now, love, we are friends again,” murmured the 
lady. 

“ I — hope so. But, Aunt Llewellyn, I must write and 
tell Arthur. You know he is in command of the store-ship 
Potomac, at Norfolk ?” 

“ Yes, dear ; but I think that instead of writing to him 
you should go to him.” 

“ Oh ! do you I I’m so glad I That is what I wanted to 
do, only the dear old ladies wouldn’t let me think of it, be- 
cause they said I was not nearly strong enough to under- 
take the journey. But I know I ami” joyfully exclaimed 
Gladys, whose last suspicions were now put to flight ; for, 
she reasoned, if Mrs. Llewellyn advised her to go to her 
husband, Mrs. Llewellyn could not have any latent designs 
to part her from him. 

“ The old women mean well ; but they are mistaken, my 
dearest. You and I both know that when you are once on 
board the boat every revolution of the wheels that take you 
to Arthur will give you new strength.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 193 

Oh, Aunt Llewell}^! I that is true I And how much I 
thank you for thinking of it. When can I goV’ 

“ There is a boat leaves the Seventh street wharf at four 
o’clock to-morrow morning. I see no reason why you 
should not go by her.” 

Oh, don’t you I Oh, that is so delightful I How long 
will it take her to reach Norfolk?” 

‘‘About twenty hours,” said Mrs. Jay, at a venture. 

“ Oh, then, I shall see Arthur as early as Tuesday morning.” 

“ Yes, my dear ; and you will tell him from me that all 
shall be forgiven and forgotten. And, that, as soon as he 
can get leave of absence from his ship, he must bring you 
to Kader Idris, where I will give you both a warm welcome 
and put you in possession of 3^our estate.” 

“ But, oh. Aunt Llewellyn, will you not go to Norfolk 
with me, and say all this to Arthur in person ?” 

“ No, my love ; it is better, under all the circumstances, 
that I should not.” 

“ But you will write to him, then ?” 

“ No, love ; you ^^ourself shall have the pleasure of first an- 
nouncing to him this good news — if you consider it such.” 

“ Oh, do I not ? the best news that I ever heard !” 

“ Very well, then ; you may bear it to him ; after which, 
if he chooses to write to me, I will answer his letter. And, 
in any case, I will await his arrival at Kader Idris,” said 
Mrs. Llewelljui. 

All this seemed so perfectly frank on the part of the 
elder lady, that the returning confidence of the young wife 
was restored and confirmed. 

“ I think I had better rise and pack up my clothes. I 
feel quite strong enough,” she said, as, with the fictitious 
strength lent to her by excitement, she arose threw off 
the bedcover, and stepped upon the floor. 

“ No I no ! lie down again, I entreat you, Gladys ! Lie 
down again, and save your strength for the journey. I will 
pack your things, and I will not trouble you to get up until 
12 


194 


THE J3RIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


it is time for you to take your seat in the carriage that is 
to convey you to the steamboat wharf,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, 
in seemingly tender anxiety. 

Gladys, smiling, obeyed, saying: 

“ It is hard to be inactive when one is so impatient. And 
so I shall have to lie still here until to-morrrow morning.” 

' “ Not so, Gladys. I should recommend that, as the boat 

leaves at the early hour of four to-morrow morning, you go 
on board this eA^ening. In that manner you can secure a 
quiet night’s rest, undisturbed by anxiety, or the necessity 
of rising at midnight, and taking a long ride to be in time 
to catch the boat.” 

“Oh, that is best of all I I shall feel ever so much further 
on my journey when I am once on the boat,” she cried, 
gleefully clapping her hands in her old joyous way. 

“ Yes, my love. And what a pleasant surprise that will 
be for him, will it not ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; he will see me about as soon as he gets my 
letter.” 

“ Exactly; and now, love, I will attend to your packing. 
"Where are your ke3’’s, and have j’^ou a travelling-trunk ? You 
had none when jrou left home so suddenly,” smiled Mrs. 
Llewell^m. 

Gladys blushed, and laughed, and said : 

“ That is my travelling-trunk standing in the corner under 
the window. And my ke^^s are in the dressing-glass drawer.” 

Mrs. Llewellyn was soon busily engaged in packing the 
slender but tasteful wardrobe of the young wife. In the 
course of her researches through the bureau drawers she came 
upon a folded paper, partly printed and partly written. It was 
the marriage license of Arthur Powis and Gladys Llewellyn, 
signed by the county clerk, and countersigned by the officiate 
ing clerg3^man. This document Mrs. Llewell3^n secretly 
slipped in a private receptacle of her own pocketbook. 

When every thing except Glad3’^s’ travelling-dress was 
packed, and the trunk was locked and strapped down, Mrs. 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


195 


Llewellyn descended to the parlor to inform the landladies 
of the suddenly arranged journey. She found no one in 
the parlor except Miss Polly. The other sisters had gone 
to church. 

“ I shall take my niece away this evening, Miss Polly,’’ 
said Mrs. Llewellyn, calmly seating herself. 

‘‘ This evening ! Oh, no, you don’t mean it. It would 
kill her. She is not near able to go. And — she will never 
consent,” exclaimed the old lady, in utter astonishment. 

“ Yes, I shall take her away this evening. It t^ill do her 
good. Every mile of the journey will give her new life. 
And she is anxious to go.” 

“Anxious to go I What I with you, ma’am ?” 

“ With me. You see that she has come to her senses.” 

“Well, well, well, well I I trust in the Lord as I have 
done right and no harm will come on it I Dear, dear, dear, 
dear 1 but I feel as if I was the betrayer of innocent blood, 
that I do I Oh, ma’am, do leave her here a few days longer !” 

“ Miss Polly, you must be aware that we could not, even 
for a few days longer, conceal from her the alarming fact 
of her husband’s mysterious disappearance ; and the horrible 
probability of his murder. When once she hears of his dis- 
appearance or suspects his murder, she will fall back into 
illness and perhaps into the grave. How much better, then, 
that I should take her away now, while it is yet possible to 
do so I And if she must learn the fearful truth, as of course 
she really must, and if she is to be ill unto death again, is 
it not better that she should then be at home among the 
familiar scenes and familiar friends of her childhood than 
that she should be here in a strange, though pleasant place, 
among strange though kind people ? At her own home, 
among her own people, the blow will be more lightly felt, 
and the illness better borne than either could be here with 
strangers. Do you not see this ?” inquired Mrs. Llewellyn, 
in an insinuating voice. 

Ye-ye-yes’m ; I s’pose you must be right, though it do 


196 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


seem awful wrong to haul her out of her sick bed, and take 
her away so sudden ! Oh I how I wish Sister Milly and 
Sister Jenny would come back!” sighed Miss Poll}^ 

“ But why ? You are more capable of forming a correct 
judgment than either of the others ! Another thing — how 
would you bear it, if Gladys were to find out the truth while 
she is here ?” 

“ Oh ! I couldn’t bear it at all ! I know I couldn’t I I 
dar’n’t face her after telling on her so many lies, even if it 
was to save her poor dear life, as I did it,” sighed Miss Polly. 

“ There, then, you see I You must resign yourself to see 
her go at once,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, as she arose to leave 
the room. 

When the other sisters came from church, they were told 
of the projected journey, and were loud in their objections 
to the proposed measure. Their arguments were precisely 
the same as those advanced by Miss Polly — that the journey 
was too sudden ; that the patient was too weak to bear it ; 
and that it would make her ill and perhaps kill her ; and 
that she herself would never consent to it. 

And Mrs. Llewellyn’s replies were the same that she had 
made to Miss Polly. That the journey was perfectly well- 
timed ; that it would do the patient good ; that Gladys was 
anxious to go ; that it was desirable she should be at home 
before learning the dreadful news of her probable widow- 
hood ; and finally, that it would be very trying to the old 
ladies themselves to have Gladys discover the “ pious 
fraud,” by which she had been deceived while in their house, 
and to which they themselves had been a party. These 
arguments, brought to bear upon the landladies with all the 
strength of Mrs. Llewellyn’s will, and all the authority of 
her position, at length convinced, or at least silenced them ; 
especially as they felt that they had really no right to inter, 
fere, and that at last Mrs. Llewellyn would do just as she 
pleased, regardless of their opinions. 

Gladys, too, seemed restored to sudden health as by a 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 197 

miracle. The hope of soon seeing Arthur electrified her 
into new life. She talked cheerfully, she laughed gajdy, 
and she ate well, though hastily. She ate to please her 
landladies and to keep up her strength, rather than for any 
satisfaction to herself ; for, in truth, joy had taken away her 
appetite as effectually as grief could have done. 

At sunset the comfortable travelling-carriage of Mrs. 
Llewellyn was at the door. And that lady, having settled 
the whole board bill, and satisfied all claims against Arthur 
and Gladys, wrapped up her young charge warmly, for the 
autumn evening was chilly, and placed her on the back 
cushions of the carriage, and took the seat beside her, and 
gave the order to drive off. 

The three old sisters followed the carriage down to the 
gate, and stood looking after it as long as it was in sight. 

And Gladys, leaning from the side window, continued to 
kiss her hand, and wave her handkerchief to her old friends 
as long as she could discern the three weird figures leaning 
over the old gate in the light of an autumn sunset. 

“ Oh I what ever will the doctor say to us when he comes 
to-morrow morning and finds them gone,’’ said Miss Polly, 
in dismay, as they retired from the gate. 

The carriage rolled rapidly on its way ; but the distance 
was long, so that it was quite dark when they reached the 
steamboat wharf. 

Mrs. Llewellyn alighted and helped Gladys out, and then 
told the coachman to wait. 

Wharf porters crowded around her for orders. She di- 
rected one of them to convey the large travelling-trunk, 
that was strapped to the back of the carriage, on to the 
deck of the steamer. And while the man was obeying, she 
drew her thick veil over her face, and dreiw the arm of 
Gladys within her own, and led her on board, and down 
into the ladies’ cabin. 

As yet there were no passengers on the boat, and no one 
occupied the cabin but the stewardess, a respectable look- 
ing colored woman. 


f 


198 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ What is your name inquired Mrs. Llewellyn. 

^‘Rachel, madam.” 

“Well, Rachel, I wish yon to be very attentive to this 
young lady, who is in extremely delicate health, and who is 
also excessively nervous.” 

“ Yes, madam — certainly.” 

“ She has come on board to-night to save her from the 
distress of being waked up early in the morning.” 

“ To be sure, madam. Many ladies does come on over 
night, when we are to start so early in the morning.” 

“ Then I wish, before any one else comes, that you would 
give her the best berth at your disposal.” 

“ Certainly, madam ; none are yet bespoken ; the young 
lady can take her choice.” 

“ I will choose for her,” said Mrs. Llewell}^, as she went 
through the ladies’ cabin, inspecting and comparing the 
berths. When she had found what she considered the 
most comfortable one, she threw Glad3"s’ shawl and travel- 
ling basket upon it, by way of establishing a claim to it, 
and said : 

“ The 3"Oung lady will occupy this berth.” 

“Yes, madam — certainly. And now will you please 
choose one for j^ourself, ma’am, before the other ladies 
come?” 

“ I am not going on this boat.” 

“ Oh ! I beg 3^our pardon, ma’am ; I thought 3^011 was.” 

“ No ; that is the reason why I bespeak your best atten- 
tions for this young lady. WheA she gets to Norfolk her 
friends will meet her. If they should fail to do so, you will 
have a carriage called to take her to a hotel.” 

“ Certainl3^, ma’am.” 

“And here is something to help 3"ou to remember my di- 
rections,” said Mrs. Llewell3ui, putting a piece of gold into 
the w^oman’s hands. 

Rachel made a curtsey in acknowledgment. ' 

Mrs. Llewell3’n w^ent to Glad3'S, wlio had sunk, overcome 
by fatigue, into an arm-chair. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


199 


My love,” she whispered, you had better not attempt 
to leave the cabin, either for the deck or the dining-room, 
until the boat reaches Norfolk.” 

‘‘ Oh, I shall not attempt to do so, I am very, very tired. 
I think I shall ‘ turn in,’ as dear Arthur used to say, di- 
rectly.” 

“ That is right. The stewardess — Rachel is her name — 
will bring you your tea, or any thing else you may wish. 
She will also take your fare and bring your ticket. Now is 
there any thing else I can do for you before I go?” 

“No, dear Aunt Llewellyn, except to take my thanks for 
all your kindness to a perverse girl.” 

“ Nonsense, my dear. Good-by I God bless you ! Give 
my love to Arthur. Tell him that the same night that 
saw you embark on the good steamer ‘ Pocahontas’ for 
Norfolk, saw me start in the Winchester stage-coach for 
Virginia, to be ready to receive you at Kader Idris ! 
Once more, good-b}" !” whispered the lady, as she stooped 
and kissed her dupe and hurried from the cabin. 

“No one but the stewardess saw me, and even she did 
not see me distinctly, for I kept my back to the light and 
my veil half drooping over my face the whole time I was 
in the cabin, so that none shall be able to swear to my 
identity, if it should come to that,” said Mrs. Llewellyn to 
herself, as she re-entered her carriage. 

“ Drive for you life to Alexandria ! I must catch the 
opposMon boat that left Washington at eight and will 
leave Alexandria at half-past nine to-night. I must reach 
Norfolk before Gladys does” 

These were the words that Mrs. Llewellyn spelt rapidly 
upon her fingers as her deaf mute Jude put up the steps and 
closed the door of the carriage. 

The mute obe3"ed with such promptitude that they 
reached Alexandria in littjle more than an hour. The car- 
riage was left in the care of Jude, and Mrs. Llewellyn 
embarked in the Banshee for Norfolk. 


200 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYIC'. 


CHAPTER XVL 

A FEARFUL DISCOVERY. 

Pierced by severe amazement, hating life, 

Speechless and fixed in all the death of woe, 

As if the marble struclj, de,void of sense. 

One stupid moment motionless she^stood. — Thomson. 

Meanwhile Gladys, attended by the kind-hearted stew- 
ardess, took her tea. And then, feeling very much ex- 
hausted by the fatigue and excitement of- the day, she 
undressed and turned into her berth, and fell asleep with 
the happy thought in her mind : 

“ By the time I wake again, I shall be steaming down 
the river on my way to see Arthur 1’’ 

The night passed quickly as the shifting of a scene. 
So deep was her dreamless sleep that she was not awakened, 
either by the bustling entrance of newly arrived passen- 
gers, or the noisy preparations for getting the boat under 
way. 

The Pocahontas, punctual to her time, started at four 
o’clock, while, of course, it was yet very dark. But still 
Gladys slept. 

So when at last she awoke, the sun was high in the hea- 
vens, and the boat was far down the river. The cabin was 
solitary but for the presence of the stewardess. ’JJlie lady 
passengers were all enjoying the fine day and the beautiful 
river scenery from the deck. At first Gladys could not 
^ recollect where- she was, or how she came there, but as 
memory returned, she smiled to think that she was on the 
steamboat and on her way to her husband. 

“ How far have we come from Washington now, steward- 
ess?” she asked. 

“ Forty mile, ma’am,” answered the woman. 

Gladys immediately arose and dressed lierself ; then sunk 
overcome with fatigue into the arm-chair ; for she was still 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 201 

very weak, and excitement only lent her a fictitious strength, 
to he paid for in subsequent prostration. The stewardess 
brought her breakfast into the cabin. She ate with appe- 
tite and was refreshed. And then, forgetting her promise, 
made sleepily to Mrs. Llewellyn, not to leave the cabin, she 
went out and climbed up on deck and sunk half fainting, 
but very happy upon one of the wide benches, where she 
sat drinking in new life from the freshness of the sea-breeze 
that could now be felt blowing up the river. 

As she sat there, her appearance was singular enough to 
attract the attention of every one on deck. In the first 
place, though she was nearly nineteen years of age, her 
form was so petite and her face so child-like, that she 
could scarcely have been taken for more than fourteen. 
She was still dressed in the deepest mourning ; and her 
face was deadly pale and thin ; and her eyes sunken and 
hollow from recent illness ; and the joy of anticipation that 
beamed from this death-like face gave it a strange, wild, 
insane aspect that excited the utmost interest among her 
fellow-passengers. 

Who is she V’ “ Where did she come from ?’’ “ Is she 

crazy were some of the questions asked. 

‘'No one knows.’’ “She came on board last night.” 
“ She was attended by a lady, who put her in the care of 
the stewardess,” were some of the answers. 

“Poor, dear, afflicted child I” “What a shame to let 
her travel alone I” “She might do herself a mischief,” 
were some of the comments. 

« But no one spoke directly to Gladys, who happily un- 
conscious of all this whispered talk, kept her eyes fixed 
greedily upon the onward course of the river that was 
fiowing toward Arthur. 

Altogether, the vo^^age to her was a very pleasant one. 
The weather was splendid, and the scenery magnificent ; 
and, wrapped in the contemplation of nature and in the 
anticipation of meeting her husband, Gladys was too ab- 


202 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


sorbed to observe the strange looks and stranger comments 
of which she was the object. She remained on deck all the 
morning. But at dinner-time she went down and joined 
her fellow-passengers at the dinner-table, where she dined 
in an absent-minded sort of way, evidently without know- 
ing or caring of what dishes she partook. She returned 
to the deck in the afternoon, to watch until the boat left 
the mouth of the river and entered upon the broader waters 
of the bay. And then, feeling very much exausted, she 
went down into the cabin, got a cup of tea from the stew- 
ardess, and turned in for the night, and fell asleep, mur- 
muring : 

“ When I awake to-morrow morning I shall be at Nor- 
folk.” 

She slept well for several hours, but not so deeply as she 
had on the previous night, for the noisy entrance of the 
lady passengers immediatel}’’ awakened her. They w^ere 
all talking fast, and all talking together, so that she could 
distinguish but little of their conversation. At length, 
however, she heard one of them say : 

“ Stewardess, who is that crazy girl j^ou have got 
here 

“ Lord, ma’am, it’s more than I know. She was fotch 
by a lady, who put her in my care, and said as friends 
would meet her at Norfolk.” 

“ I think it is very wrong to let such a poor, afflicted 
creature as she is travel by herself.” 

“ So do I, ma’am. But I hadn’t the least idea as she was 
afflicted until one of the ladies said so. I thought she was 
only sick.” 

“Why, she is quite deranged; don’t you see it?” ^ 

“ I see it now, ma’am, certainly, though I did not at 
first.” 

“Is she harmless, do you think ?” inquired another 
lady. 

“ Oh, yes, miss; harmless as a infant baby, I am sure.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 203 


“You never can tell,” said a third. “These sort of 
people break out into fury when you least expect them to 
do so. I’m sure she might set the cabin on fire, or jump 
overboard, or something. Indeed, I don’t think we are at 
all safe. It is really quite shocking — the idea of sleeping 
in a steamboat cabin in the open sea with a crazy woman. 
Suppose she was to get up while we are asleep and kill 
some of us, or set the boat on fire !” 

“ Oh, horrible ! most horrible ! there can’t be any thing 
half so horrible as a fire at sea ! ” exclaimed a fourth lady. 

“What shall we do?” inquired several, speaking to- 
gether. 

“ Let’s set up all night,” suggested one. 

“Ko; we would be sea-sick,” answered many. 

“ Let’s send for the captain,” suggested another. 

“ It would not be of the least use. He doesn’t believe 
she is dangerous ; he said so on deck this evening,” replied 
several. 

“ I tell you what we will do,” said the lady who had first 
spoken. “As we are the persons that are in danger from 
her, or that are in the most danger from her, we will ‘ take 
the responsibility,’ as General Jackson says, and we will 
TIE her I” 

“Yes!” “No!” “That is the best way I” “ Oh, that 
will never do, Mrs. Brown!” exclaimed various voices 
speaking the difiering opinions at once. 

“ Yes, I tell you ! it is for her own good as well as ours. 
It is to i)revent her from doing herself harm, as well as 
from doing us harm.” 

“ Oh, yes ! Tie her — tie her! It is not safe to leave her 
loose to cut some of our throats, or throw herself over- 
board, or set the steamer afire, or something,” exclaimed 
several. And as the majority were in favor of the motion, 
it was carried. 

“ We can tie her while she is asleep. We can do it with 
our pocket-handkerchiefs, and we need not hurt her, or even 


204 T-HE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


% 

awaken her,” said the lady who had first made the propo- 
sition. 

“ Yes, but who will undertake, to do it ?” inquired a 
timid one. 

“I will,” said the proposer of the measure; “but some 
of you will have, to stand by me to help, in case she should 
resist.” 

Several of the strongest and boldest volunteered for this 
dangerous service of securing one feeble girl. 

Gladys, who had been a trembling listener to their dis^ 
course, now sat up in her berth, drew aside her curtain, 
clasped her thin hands together and looked imploringly at 
them as they approached her. 

“ Oh, she is awake !” cried one lady, shrinking back. 

“ See how wild she looks !” cried another. 

“ The fit is coming on I” exclaimed a third. 

And they all drew back for an instant ; but then rallied 
and approached her again. 

“ Indeed, I am not mad, ladies !” pleaded Gladys ; but 
her pale and haggard countenance, her sunken and hollow 
eyes, and her strange excited manner belied her truthful 
words. 

“Not mad I No, poor afflicted creature, who ever heard 
of a mad person owning up to being mad I” moaned an old 
lady. 

“ But indeed, I am speaking the truth I I am not mad 1 
I have never been mad in my life. I have onl}^ been ill of 
a fever,” pleaded Gladys. 

“ Oh, yes, of course, poor child ! brain fever it must have 
been,” said an old lady. 

“ No, it was typhoid, I believe.” 

“ That very often affects the brain and leaves it in a 
weakened state.” 

“ Oh ! but I am well now, quite well,” urged Glarl^^s, 
clasping her pale hands tightly and fixing her wild eyes im- 
ploring]}' upon her tormentors. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 205 

They looked at each other inquiringly, while their ring- 
leader nodded her head and drew a strong pocket-handker- 
chief from her pocket. 

“ Indeed I am well now ! Indeed I am I I am on my 
way to join my husband !” cried Gladys, in wild alarm, as 
she witnessed these preparations for binding her. 

“ Her husband 1 The child I Hear her I Talking about 
a husband at her age !” cried the old lady, in disgust. 

“ Perhaps she has been crossed in love, and that has been 
the cause of her derangement,” suggested a young lady, 
who was returning from boarding-school. 

“ Crossed in a fiddlestick, Malvina I Why she is too 
young ! She is not more than thirteen or fourteen years 
old,” snapped Malvina’s maiden aunt. 

“ Indeed, I am eighteen, and I have been married some 
weeks. My husband is on the United States store-ship 
Potomac, now at Norfolk, where I am going to join him,” 
exclaimed Gladys, wildly wringing her hands, and fear- 
fully glancing from one to the other of her persecutors. 

“ There I you see she is growing worse and worse ; seize 
her I” said Mrs. Brown. 

The stoutest woman of the party pounced upon Gladys, 
who struggled, begged, and at last screamed. 

Other women came to give assistance ; and then the ' 
struggles and entreaties of the poor girl were equally vain ; 
but her screams “ waked the welkin ;” or at least they dis- 
turbed the captain and the mate on the upper deck, and 
the gentlemen passengers in the dining-saloon, and many 
of them came running to the door of the ladies’ cabin, in- 
quiring, in great alarm: 

What is this ? What is the matter ? What has hap- 
pened ?” 

The stewardess ran to answer them. 

“ Oh, gentlemen, it is nothing much. Only the poor 
afflicted girl is in fits. The ladies can manage her. Please 
go away, gentlemen. It isn’t proper for you to be here.” 

The gentlemen retired, with muttered comments of : 


206 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Poor girl “ Poor unfortunate creature I” “ What a 
pity!” et cetera. 

And in a few minutes Gladys was overpowered, gagged, 
and tied hand and foot, and she lay gasping, breathless and 
exhausted on her berth. And her tormentors stood around 
her, gazing at their work, and panting from the effect of 
their exertions. 

“We did it for your good, child,’’ said Mrs. Brown. 

“ To keep you from doing yourself a mischief,” added 
Mrs. Grey. 

“Now, you keep still, like a good girl, and no one shall 
hurt you,” put in Miss White. 

Gladys only gasped in reply. 

“ Lors! indeed, I’m afraid she’ll smother. We had bet- 
ter take that napkin out of her mouth. What do you say, 
ladies?” inquired Mrs. Jones. 

“ Just as you please. She can’t do much harm with her 
mouth, except to scream, and I reckon she will soon get 
tired of that fun,” said Mrs. Brown. 

And then, as the ladies all agreed that the gag should be 
removed, the napkin that they had rolled up and forced 
between the extended jaws of poor Gladys; to the serious 
risk of their dislocation, was now taken out, to her inex- 
pressible relief. 

“ Now, then, do you feel better?” inquired Mrs. Jones. 

“Yes, certainly,” replied Gladys. 

“And if we leave your mouth free, will you be a good 
girl, and not yell out like all-possessed ?” 

“ I will not scream again. I see that it will be of no use, 
as there is no one here to take my part.” 

“Ah! that’s just like crazy people — they always thinlr 
everybody is their enemies,” said Miss White, interrupting 
Gladys ; who, however, resumed her speech, saying : 

“ If you will be so good as to turn me over on my right 
side, and arrange my dress and counterpane decently and 
comfortably, I will try to submit quietly to circumstances 


.THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 207 


and lie here until we reach Norfolk, when I hope that you 
will either set me free to seek my husband, or else send for 
him to come to me.” 

The ladies complied with her request, and arranged her 
as comfortably as they possibly could do under the circum- 
stances ; for, indeed, their motive throughout the whole 
affair had been only to secure their own safety with as 
little inconvenience as possible to the supposed lunatic. 

When they had arranged her properly, and drawn the 
white curtain before her berth, they all prepared to go to 
rest, congratulating themselves that all possible danger 
from the “mad girl” was now over. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ENSNARED. 

Thoti hast prevaricated with my trust, 

By underhanded means undone me; 

And while my open nature trusted in thee. 

Thou hast stepped in between me and my hopes, 

And ravished from me all my soul held dear. — Rowe. 

When the cabin was at last still, Gladys, with her hands 
and feet fast tied, tried to compose herself to sleep ; but for 
a long time tried in vain. 

“ I would like to know,” she said to herself, “ what star 
presided at my natal hour, that makes it my fate always to 
be restrained, imprisoned, or fettered ? My guardian 
locked me up in my own room to hinder me from entering 
into a marriage that my parents had approved. Dear Miss 
Polly locked me up to prevent my being intruded upon. 
And now, these good ladies tie me hand and foot lest I 
should go mad in the night and cut their throats or fire the 
steamer !” 

Something ludicrous amidst the seriousness of the whole 


208 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


affair struck the mirthful chord of Gladyst heart, and de- 
spite her fetters she laughed aloud. 

^'Hear her muttered Mrs. Brown, in an awful whisper ; 
“ that was a real madhouse laugh ! If we had not tied her 
down, we should all have been burned in our beds ! I” 

And all the other ladies silently acquiesced, and shud- 
dered ! 

Gladys did not find it easy sleeping with fettered limbs. 
Her rest was broken throughout the night. And she was 
glad when morning came. 

AVhen the ladies had risen and dressed themselves, they 
voluntarily released Glad3^s, informing her that she might 
get up and put on her clothes, as they would soon be at 
Norfolk. 

Gladj^s eagerly availed herself of the privilege. At first, 
her limbs were rather stiff ; but still she managed to make 
her toilet, and to join her fellow travellers at the breakfast 
table in the saloon. 

There she was very much annoyed by the curious regards 
of the gentlemen passengers, who saw in her the reputed 
lunatic who had fallen into fits in the ladies’ cabin on the 
previous night. But Gladys bore all this very good-humor- 
edly, supported as she was by the thought that she would 
soon be with her husband, and that all her troubles would 
then be over. 

After breakfast, she went up on deck to watch the ap- 
proach to Norfolk. Here also her appearance, as a sus- 
pected lunatic, attracted much attention, and occasioned 
many remarks. But her eyes and thoughts were so much 
engaged and interested in watching the shipping lying off 
Norfolk and Portsmouth, and conjecturing which might be 
the ship commanded by Arthur, that she remained utterly 
unconscious of the annoyance. 

Presently the steamboat ran in alongside of her own 
wharf — the bell rang, the engine began to blow off her 
steam, the gang-plank was thrown down, and the passengers 
crowded forward to land. 


209 


I 

THE BRIDE Of LLEWELLYN. 

Gladys was not quite heartlessly forgotten. 

“ Poor creature,” said Mrs. Brown, “ I hope her friends 
will meet her punctually. Indeed, if I had time, I really 
would look after her myself.” 

“ Oh, the stewardess will do that I She is paid to do it,” 
said Miss White. 

When all the ladies had landed, Gladys remained stand- 
ing on the deck, in a state of perplexity, until the steward- 
ess, observing her, came up to her side. 

So, miss, your friend has not come on board to meet 
you and take you away,” said the woman, respectfully. 

I am not ‘ miss I am madam ; and it is my husband. 
Commander Powis, of the United States store-ship Potomac, 
that I have come to meet. He has no reason to expect me 
so soon ; and I am an inexperienced travellet, and I feel 
rather uncertain how to proceed,” said Gladys. 

“ Then, miss — I beg your pardon, I meant to say, ma’am, 
only you look so childish to be married — hadn’t you better 
do as the other lady recommended, in case no one came to 
meet you ?” 

“What was that? I don’t remember.” 

“ Why, let me call a hackney-coach to take you to some 
nice, quiet hotel, where you could stop till you sent for 
your husband and got him.” 

“ Oh, yes ; thank you — I had better go to a hotel first,” 
said Gladys, eagerly. 

The stewardess went to the side of the steamboat and 
beckoned a carriage that was standing on the wharf. And 
while it was drawing up, she had Gladys’ luggage brought 
forward. And in a few minutes Gladys was seated in the 
carriagre, to the door of which the kind-hearted stewardess 
accompanied her. 

“ What hotel would you recommend, stewardess ?” in- 
quired Gladys. 

“ The Blank House, on Dash street, is a nice, quiet place.” 

“ Thank you ! Good-b}^ stewardess I Drive to the Blank 
House, on Dash street, coachman.” 

13 


210 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

The carriage drove oif, and in a few minutes drew up 
before the hotel in question. 

Gladys alighted, paid and discharged her carriage, and 
walked in by the ladies’ door to the house. Here, again, 
her extreme youth, her deadly paleness, her deep mourning, 
and her excited manner attracted attention and occasioned 
remark. But landlords and waiters have more eyes for 
money than ears for gossip, and so, though they wondered 
to see so young and helpless a creature travellrng alone, 
yet as they perceived she had a large travelling trunk and 
a well-filled purse, they furnished her with the room she 
required, and answered the questions she put. 

“ Can you tell me how I can best reach the store-ship 
Potomac, waiter ?” she asked of the dignitary who ushered 
her into hei^ room. 

“ I really cannot, miss ; but I can ask the clerk of the 
house.” 

“ Do, if you please,” said Gladys, feeling all a young 
wife’s annoyance at being “ missed” by a waiter. 

Presently, in answer to her question, the clerk of tne 
house appeared in person. 

“ You were inquiring for a ship, miss ?” he asked politely. 

“ Yes, sir ; I am Mrs. Powis,” said Gladys, lifting her 
graceful little head with an assumption of matronly dignity ; 
“ and I have come down to join my husband, who has re- 
cently been appointed to the United States store-ship 
Potomac, lying off Norfolk. And I wish to know how I 
can best reach that ship.” 

“ I think, madam,” said the clerk, in a slow and hesitating 
manner, “ that there is some mistake. There is no such 
ship in the Norfolk waters.” 

“ Oh, yes, there is, sir, indeed ! The store-ship Potomac, 
commanded by my husband, is certainly at the Norfolk 
iiavy yard,” said the young wife, in a tone of annoyance, 
for she felt fretted and uneasy at what she mentally called 
the stupidit}^ of the clerk. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


211 


“ The navy yard, madam, is not at Norfolk at all ; but at 
Portsmouth, across the water.” 

“ Oh, well, it is the same thing I I am sure it is as often, 
or oftener, called the Norfolk navy yard as the Portsmouth 
navy yard I And at all events, it is there that my hus- 
band’s ship is stationed.” 

I am very sure, madam, that there is no such ship in 
the Portsmouth navy yard. The only store-ship there is 
the Michigan, and she is commanded by Lieutenant 
Brown, whose lady came down from Washington by the 
Pocahontas this morning, and is now in this house ” 

Gladys, so pale before, now turned ghastly white, as a 
suspicion of the truth that she had been deceived and 
entrapped burst upon her dismayed mind. 

But summoning an almost superhuman energy to her 
aid, she inquired : 

“ How can I best and soonest reach the Portsmouth 
navy yavd ?” 

“ By the ferry-boat of course, madam.” 

“ Then please to order a carriage for me immediately. 
I must go there at once.” 

The clerk left the rooqi to comply with this request. 
And Gladj^s sank nearly swooning into her chair to await 
the carriage, which was soon announced. 

“ Drive quickly to the Portsmouth ferry-boat, and I will 
double your fare,” she said, to the coachman, as soon as 
she was seated in the carriage. 

The coachman obeyed with a will, and soon set her down 
at her destination. She hastily thrust a quarter eagle into 
his hand, and, without waiting for the change, ran on to 
the ferry-boat that was just leaving the wharf. 

“ Good gracious me alive ! if here isn’t that poor, crazed 
girl again !” said a voice at her elbow. 

Gladys turned suddenly and recognized her fellow-pas- 
senger, Mrs. Brown, and remembering what the clerk of 
the hotel had told her, she elapsed her hands and raised 
her eyes exclaiming : 


212 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Oh, madam, does Lieutenant Brown command the only 
store-ship here ?” 

“ Of course here does,” said the astonished lady. 

“And you have come here to join him 

“ Yes ! Is that any business of yours, my girl ?” de- 
manded the lady, with a jealous snap of her little black 
eyes, as she recalled various instances of the brave lieu- 
tenant’s gallantry. 

“ Oh, madam, have pity on me ; answer my questions 
kindly. I am a poor, inexperienced country-girl, mother- 
less, fatherless, friendless ” 

“And deserved to be so, no doubt,” said the lady. 

Gladys winced at the cruel retort, but continued her 
pleadings. 

“ I have been very unhappy and am so still. My hus- 
band went away ; and I had a bad spell of illness, in 
which I nearly lost my life — and — I fear that I have been 
betrayed ” 

“ Umph — umph ! the old story! did the child live?” 
demanded the lady, with suppressed fierceness. 

“The child, madam; what child ?” inquired Gladys, in 
innocent amazement. 

“ Why your child I his child I The child I Oh I wont 
I give it to him, when I see him 1” exclaimed the lieutenant’s 
wife in a furious whisper. 

It was now Gladys turn to think her companion mad. 

“ I am not speaking of any child, madam I I am speak- 
ing of my missing husband, and of my own miseries. I 
came down here to find him. I was assured that he was in 
command of the store-ship here. Can you tell me if he is?” 

“ Oh, of course, it is very likely I would tell you I Ah ! 
wait till I get on board the Michigan, that is all ! I wdll 
give Arthur Brown my opinion of his conduct, for once in 
my life ! And then I will go back to my father ! I will go 
back to my father and apply for a divorce I I will I I will ! 
if I die for it,” exclaimed the incensed woman, in a hoarse 
whisper through her grinding teeth. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


213 


“You must be so much more experienced in naval affairs 
than I am. Can you aid me in finding my husband ?” 
pleaded Gladys, who had not caught the violent words of 
the lieutenant’s wife. 

“How dare you appl 3 ^ to me, you wretch! Look here, 
you abandoned creature ! If you dare so much as show 
your face on board the ‘ Michigan,’ I will have ^’^ou taken 
up, and sent to the work-house as a common vagrant I” ex- 
claimed the enraged woman, as she twitched her dress from 
the contact of Gladys black gown, and turned her back 
upon her. 

Gladys shrunk back appalled, and gazed in consternation 
upon the fur^^ she had unwittingly aroused. She did not 
understand one word of the tirade that had been poured 
out upon her own most innocent head. And before she 
recovered her panic, the boat landed at Portsmouth. 

Gladys hurried on shore, and hastily inquired her way to 
the navy j^ard. 

The old man of whom she sought this information gave 
her careful directions, and then looked wistfully after her, 
murmuring, half aloud: 

“ Poor thing 1 what ails her ?” 

“ She’s crazy 1” said one of Glady’s fellow-passengers of 
the “ Pocahontas,” who happened to be present. 

And all who heard the question and answer looked 
curiously’ after the reputed lunatic. 

And indeed the whole look, manner, and appearance of 
the w'retched girl, as she went through the navy yard with 
clasped hands and wild eyes and pleading voice, begging 
of every one with whom she met, information about the 
store-ship Potomac and Commander Powis, favored the 
supposition of her insanity. Some laughed at her, some 
insulted her, and all assured her that there was no such 
ship and no such captain as she sought at the Portsmouth 
navj’’ yard. 

Nearly maddened by despair, she left the yard ; but then 


214 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

a group of all the idle boys about the street collected about 
the “crazy girl,” with hoots and cries and jeers ; and with 
mocking questions of: 

“ Have you found the capting yet ?” 

“ Has that ’ere ship come inter port ?” 

“ Don’t jmu wish you may get it, crazy* Jane, eh ?” 

“ Sing us a song, and let it be a good un, or we’ll wollop 
ye.” 

Phrenzied with affright, Gladys turned to fly, and ran — 
into the arms of Mrs. Jay Llewellyn ! 

“Let me go! Let me go! You have deceived and en- 
trapped me !” she screamed, as that lady’s arms closed like 
the folds of a serpent around her. 

“Yo, I will not let you go! You are now within the 
jurisdiction of Virginia. I am your guardian. You are 
my ward. And I take possession of you in the name of 
the law!” hissed the woman into the tortured ear of her 
victim. 

“ I am the lawful wife of Arthur Powis, and your rights 
of guardianship have been superseded,” said Gladys, strug. 
giing wildly to release herself. 

“You are no one’s wife !” exclaimed Mrs. Jay, raising 
her voice, so that the crowd who were beginning to collect, 
might hear her words. “ You are no one’s wife ! You are 
a lost, ruined, and abandoned girl ! But you are still a 
minor and my ward ! And you must come home with me.” 

“ I will not ! I will not ! You have deceived me with a 
lie ! You have betrayed me with a kiss ! You have sepa- 
rated me from my husband! A^es, Mrs. Jsiy, you have! 
I know you have ! 1 knew you would do me some fatal 

harm from the very moment that I recognized you as yon 
passed me in the carriage on Garrison street that last day 
that I ever spent with my dear Arthur. Oh ! that I had 
only trusted that instinct rather than trusted 3 m u ! And 
now you have parted us. Perhaps 3 "Ou have made away 
with him ! perhaps you have murdered him ! I believe you 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


215 


capable of doing so ! But I will seek him all over the 
world ! And if he is living, I will find him ! And if he is 
dead, I will avenge him! You have kindled all the Llew- 
ellyn’s blood in my veins now I And once on fire, it is 
not easily quenched !” cried Gladys, striving desperately 
to free herself. 

“ You see, good people, how very mad this poor girl is 1 
Ah ! it is easy to read her story, poor thing ! the victim of 
a villain’s perfidy !” said Mrs. Llewellyn, sweetly, to the 
gaping crowd, who sagely nodded their heads. 

“ It is false I false as j^our own black, cruel heart, Mrs. 
Jay! Mrs. Jay ! I will not call you Mrs. Llewellyn! 
You are a dishonor to our family name ! Mrs. Jay ! Mrs. 
Jay ! Mrs. Jay-bird ! vulture ! kite ! crow ! let me go, I say ! 
your beak and talons are red with the blood of the inno- 
cent, now! Let me go!” screamed Gladys, striving as if 
for life against death. 

“ Good people ! will one of you assist me to place this 
unfortunate girl in the carriage ?” said Mrs. Llewellyn, ap- 
pealing to the crowd. 

SeA^eral men immediately stepj^ed forward to offer their 
services. 

“ You, sir, you look like a family man ! Pray lend me 
your aid ; that will be quite sufficient,” said Mrs. Jay, se- 
lecting from the number that offered, a respectable gray- 
haired man, who immediately laid his hands upon the strug- 
gling girl. 

But little assistance was needed to subdue her now. 
Her superhuman struggles had exhausted all her strength ; 
her intensely strained muscles suddenly relaxed ; and she 
fainted in the arms of her deadly enemy. 

“ That will do ! Put her into the carriage, sir,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn. 

And the old man, an unconscious accomplice of crime, 
lifted Glad 3 ^s tenderly, and placed her in the carriage. 

'‘I thank you very much, sir,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, as 


216 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

she also entered the carriage and took her seat at her vic- 
tim’s side. 

The old man raised his hat and bowed deeply as the 
equipage rolled away. 

And thus, for the time being, at least, Mrs. Jay Llewellyn 
gained the victory. 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

IN THE vulture’s TALONS. 

What 1 are my doors opposed against my passage? 

Have I been ever free, and must my house 
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol ? 

The place which I have feasted, does it now. 

Like all mankind, show me an iron heart ? — Shakspeare. 

Drive to the ferry-boat, and on it,” was the order given 
by Mrs. Llewellyn to the coachman, who immediately turned 
his horses’ heads to obey. 

Mrs. Llewellyn drew down all the blinds of the carriage 
as it moved rapidly on its way. 

Then she took upon her bosom the head of Gladys, who 
remained insensible to every thing that was going on around 
her. 

And thus they drove on to the ferry-boat and crossed the 
water to the city. 

“ Where, now, madam ?” inquired the coachman, spring- 
ing from his seat and opening the carriage-door. 

“ To the Blank House.” 

The man remounted to his place and the carriage drove 
off. 

When it drew up before the hotel in question, the lady 
beckoned the coachman to the window, and said : 

‘‘ Go into the house and call the landlord, or the clerk, or 
some responsible person, to my assistance.” 

\ 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 217 

The man went and brought the clerk, who approached 
hat in hand, and bowing before the arrogant woman. 

“You see the condition of this unhappy young lady? 
She is quite insensible and perfectly helpless. I require 
some assistance in removing her to the house,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn, pointing to the lifeless-looking burden on her 
lap. 

“ Certainly, madam. I can carry the young lady in, if 
you will permit me to do so.” • 

“ Thank you, yes.” 

“ And — shall I send a messenger to fetch a physician ?” 

“ No ; no physician could do her any good. Her case, 
though not at all dangerous, is quite hopeless. It is the 
mind, you understand, rather than the body, that is af- 
flicted.” 

“Ah, yes, poor young lady ! We all thought there was 
something not right Tiere,” said the clerk, pointing to his 
forehead. 

“ Exactly ; and unfortunately we allowed her too much 
liberty. And, with the cunning that frequently attends 
insanity, she managed to elude our vigilance and make her 
escape and travel on here in pursuit of some ignis-fatuus 
raised from the miasma of her own diseased brain.” 

“Ah, yes, madam ! we know ! a commander and a ship 
that had no existence but in her imagination. A sad 
case !” 

“ Extremely sad. Now, sir, if you please, pass your 
arm under her shoulder as I raise her head. It is exces- 
sively awkward, removing a fainting women from a small 
carriage,” said the lady, as she aided the clerk in his diffi- 
cult task. 

At length between them they got the insensible girl out 
of the carriage ; and the clerk, whose name was Penn, bore 
her with tender and respectful care into the house. 

“ Take her at once to the rooms I have engaged,” said 
Mrs Llewellyn, wlio had followed him closely. 


218 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


The clerk obeyed. And when he had carried her up 
two or three flights of stairs, and laid her on the bed of a 
spacious upper chamber, and turned to leave the room, 
Mrs. Llewellyn stopped him : 

One moment, Mr. Penn. When does the Baltimore 
steamer leave 

‘‘At six o’clock this evening, ma’am.” 

“ Be so good as to send and engage a double state- 
room for me and my unhappy charge ; and pay our hotel 
bill and bring me the receipts and the change,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn, putting a well-filled purse in his hand. 

When Mrs. Llewellyn found herself alone with her vic- 
tim, she approached the bed and looked upon the face of 
Gladys — the face so pale and thin, so worn and drawn with 
sorrow and sickness, that it would have melted any heart 
less hard than that of the woman who contemplated it. 

“ So, you poor, weak, miserable girl ! You thought, with 
you lover’s aid, to baffle me, did you ? Well, you are here, 

in my absolute power again. And he is not likely to 

give us any more trouble. Only live, my girl ! Only live 
long enough to become the wife of James Stukely and the 
mother of his child, and then — die as soon as you please. 
I wonder will the strong Llewellyn mind bend to this ? 
I w^onder will the proud Llewellyn heart bear or break. 
We shall see!” said this fell woman, as with the stern, 
ruthless and malignant aspect of a fiend, she seemed to 
swoop over her prey. 

She made no effort to bring Gladys out of her swoon. 
She knew that in such cases the victim is better left to na- 
ture, and that in this particular case the longer Gladys 
continued in helpless unconsciousness the better it would 
suit her own evil ];)urposes. 

She left the bedside and went and opened a small medi- 
cine chest, and began to prepare certain powerful drugs — 
not stimulating and strengthening medicines to rouse the 
failing mind and body of the patient — and not exactly 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


219 


deadly poisons to utterly destroy life — ^but what was really^ 
as fatal as the last mentioned agents — baleful sedative- 
tonics that excite hunger and appetite and promote diges- 
tion and nutrition, while they lower the action of the brain 
and heart, and nearly paral^^ze the intellect and will, and 
thus save the body while they destroy the mind. Divine 
medicaments these are when used with judgment and con- 
science ; devilish poisons when used with rashness or 
malignity ; known to certain good doctors of the middle 
ages, and used to obtund the poignant anguish of grief 
that but for them might have been fatal to life ; known, 
also, to certain wicked alchemists, and used by them to 
destroy the moral free agency where it was desirable to 
enslave rather than to kill ; known, lastly, to Mrs. Jay 
Llewellyn, who had made the science of toxicology the 
favorite study of her life, and about to be used by her to 
restore the bodily health and to palsy the mental and 
moral energy of her unconscious victim. 

While she was still busy at her demoniacal work, a moan 
and stir on the bed warned her that Gladj^s was recover- 
ing her consciousness. 

She quickly arose, and prepared a mixture, and took it 
to the bedside, and lifted the head of the poor girl, and 
placed the draught to her dry lips. 

And Gladys, scarcely half conscious of her act, instinc- 
tively swallowed the liquid and became quiescent. 

There came a rap at the door. 

Mrs. Llewellyn quickl}^ dropped the head of Gladys, 
drew the curtains before the bed, and went to see who 
was there. 

A stranger to her. Mrs. Lieutenant Brown. 

I beg your pardon, madam ; but you must have mis- 
taken the rdom,’’ said Mrs. Jay, drawing herself up with 
her most repellant aspect. 

“ Oh, no, not if you are the care-taker of that young wo- 
man who came down with me on the Pocahontas this morn- 
ing,’^ said Mrs. Brown, deliberately walking into the room. 


220 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ But we have not the honor of your acquaintance, rna- 
dam!” said Mrs. Jay, haughtily. 

“ She has,^’ replied the visitor, nodding her head em- 
phaticall}". ‘‘ I am the wife of that man she followed down 
here.’' And her little black eyes snapped vindictively. 

Mrs. Llewell^m was not a woman to start at any thing ; 
no not even at a shell that might happen to burst in her 
presence ; but she certainly did draw back and gaze stead- 
fastly at the speaker before her. 

“ How did you know that the young lady followed any 
one down here?” she inquired. 

“ I am sure she made no secret of it. She did nothing 
but babble of her sweetheart — her husband she called 
him, the deceitful wretch ! — all the time she was on the 
boat. But how she could have pretended to think he was 
her husband, when he had a lawful wife living, I don’t 
know !” 

“ But — you do not mean to say that the lieutenant had 
been married before?” inquired Mrs. Jay, speaking, of 
course, of Arthur Powis. 

“ Don’t I, though ? A'es, I do ! He had been married 
to me four years, the monster !” cried Mrs. Brown, speaking 
of course only of her own husband, Arthur Brown. 

“ My dear madam, this is very shocking news to me !” 
exclaimed Mrs. Llewellyn, with every appearance of grief 
in her face, but with secret delight in her heart. 

“ Shocking ? — if you knew what I have suffered from 
that man’s behavior, j'our heart would bleed for me,” ex- 
claimed the self-tormentor, bursting into tears. 

“ My dear madam, pray sit down and tell me all about 
it,” said Mrs. Jay, who really thought that now she had 
discovered a secret in the life of Arthur Powis, that would 
make his veiy memory abhorrent to Gladys. 

Sobbing hysterically, Mrs. Brown threw herself into a. 
chair, and poured forth the history of her fancied wrongs ; 
and as she always mentioned her unlucky husband as 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 221 


“ Arthur,’’ or “ the lieutenant,” and as this name and title 
applied equally to the lost Arthur Powis and the slandered 
Arthur Brown, neither Mrs. Llewellyn nor her excited 
visitor had any means of discovering their mutual mistake. 

And now, ma’am,” said Mrs. Brown, wiping her eyes, 
as she ended her story, “ I have taken the liberty of calling 
on you, and begging you to take the young woman away 
as soon as possible, for her sake as well as for mine and for 
Arthur’s. Upon second thoughts I don’t blame her so 
much, poor thing, for Arthur is very handsome and capti- 
vating, and that’s the sacred truth ! or, he wouldn’t ever 
have got over me as he did ; and no doubt he made her 
believe that he married her. I blame him ; but though I 
do blame him so much, and feel so angry and outrageous 
sometimes that I feel as if I must either divorce him or 
kill him outright, yet you see I like him too well to part 
with him altogether, especially as he has so lately come off 
a long voyage. So I must beg and entreat you, ma’am, to 
take the young lady away with you. I know she is quite 
crazed and that he was the cause of it all ; but then she 
might come to her senses, and they might meet, and jA^/ 



And so, you see, it is better 
should be taken away at once.” 


“ I have already engaged a passage in the Baltimore 
steamer, that leaves the wharf at six this evening,” said 
Mrs. Llewelhm. ' 

“ Oh ! I am ver}^ glad. And, ma’am, I hope you will 
not feel offended at any thing that I have said this morn- 


‘‘ Oh, no ! The unhappy young woman is no relative of 
mine ; she is only a poor orphan that I have taken charge 
of from motives of charity, and that I am unveiling to 
desert even now in her fall,” said Mrs. Llewell^m, gra- 
ciously. 

“ Oh, madam ! how very kind of you. Providence will 
surely reward such benevolence as yours,” said the lieu- 
tenant’s wife. 


222 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


At this moment there came another rap at the door. 
And Mrs. Llewellyn, knowing that this must be the clerk, 
arose and opened it. 

As Mr. Penn entered, with a purse in one hand, and a 
roll of papers in the other, Mrs. Brown arose and took 
leave. 

‘‘ Do you know that lady ?’’ inquired Mrs. Llewellyn, 
when her visitor had left the room. 

“ Yes, madam ; she is Mrs. Arthur Brown, and she 
stops here whenever she is in town,” replied the clerk. 

“ Mrs. Arthur — whom ?” quickly, demanded Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn. 

“Mrs. Arthur Brown, madam, the wife of Lieutenant 
Arthur Brown, who commands the store-ship Michigan, 
now at the navy 3mrd,” replied the clerk, as he quietly laid 
down the purse and papers upon the table before the lady. 

“Are you sure of what you say ?” 

“ Oh, yes, madam ! The lieutenant is in the house now. 
Have you uny further commands ?” 

“ Oh, no ! except that you will have a carriage at the 
door, at four o’clock, precisely, to take us to the boat.” 

“ Certainly, madam,” said Mr. Penn, bowing himself out. 

Mrs. Llewellyn sat down and laughed — a noiseless sar- 
donic laugh. The mystery was out. “ Trifles light as air 
are to the jealous confirmation strong as proofs from Holy 
Writ.” And from a few coincidences, the jealous wufe of 
Lieutenant Brown had mistaken the “Arthur” sought by 
poor Gladys for her own Arthur, and through that mistake 
would, doubtless, lead the unlucky lieutenant a terrible life, 
for some time to come. And Arthur Powis had been no biga- 
mist ; but, notwithstanding that, Mrs. Llewell^m thought 
she could turn this mistake to such good account, as to 
persuade Gladys that he had been one, and that she had 
been led into a fictitious marriage by an already married 
man ; for there had been such seeming truth in all poor, 
jealous, deluded Mrs. Brown had said, that it would be, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


223 - 


only necessary to repeat it word for word to make Gladys 
believe it. 

The few remaining hours of Mrs. Llewellyn’s stay in Nor- 
folk passed quietly. She took luncheon in her own room. 
She fed Gladys with beef-tea and port wine, nourishing and 
strengthening liquids, that the stupified girl could swallow 
without difficulty. 

And at four o’clock, precisely, she had Gladys lifted from 
the bed, and taken down and placed in the carriage. She 
also got in, and took the girl’s drooping head upon her 
false bosom. And in this way they drove to the steam- 
boat wharf, and embarked on the Baltimore steamer — the 
coachman helping to carry Gladys down into the cabin, and 
receiving an extra fee for his services. 

When Gladys was once laid upon her berth, Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn locked the state-room door, and went up on deck to 
enjoy the sunset on the water, and to watch the receding 
shores as the steamer sailed. 

She took supper with the company in the saloon, and 
then, with a cup of coffee (into which she dropped a seda- 
tive powder) in her hand, she went down into the ladies’ 
cabin, and unlocked the state-room occupied by Gladys. 

There was not a soul in the cabin. The ladies were on 
deck, enjoying the effect of the moonlight on the water, 
and even the stewardess was absent, probably getting her 
supper. Mrs. Llewellyn knew all this, and timed her visit 
to her victim accordingly. 

As she opened the state-room door, the light from the 
cabin without fell upon the pale face of Gladys, as she lay 
quiescent, with half-closed eyes, upon her berth. She looked 
up, and seeing Mrs. Llewellyn, said : 

‘‘You have deceived and betrayed me, Mrs. Jay. You 
have entrapped me into your power. But be assured that 
I know you cannot retain me in your custody ; and that 
there will speedily come a day of deliverance for me, and 
of retribution for you. And the certain knowledge of this 
enables me to bear this indignity as calmly as I do.” 


224 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Gladys spoke firmly, but without the least excitemdut, 
for although the stupefying effects of the drug that was 
administered to her had passed away, yet the subduing 
effects of it remained and rendered excitement as yet im- 
possible. 

“ I am the best friend that you have in the world, my 
dear, as you will very soon find. Here, drink this coflee.” 

“ If I take it from your hand at all, I do it under protest ! 
And if I drink it at all, it is because I think it would be 
wrong wantonly to injure my own health by abstinence, 
and I feel m^^self under the necessity of taking something 
to keep up my strength, for I must keep up that in order 
to withstand you, Mrs. Jay,” said Gladys, as she took the 
cup and eagerly drank the coffee; for the drug had made 
her hungry as well as stupid. 

“ Put your compliance on any ground 3^ou like, mj^ love, 
so that you do j’^ourself good,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, smiling 
grimly. 

Gladys drank all the coffee, fixed her eyes defiantly on 
Mrs. Llewellyn as she returned the empt^^ cup to that lady, 
and then — suddenl}- dropped back upon her pillow and fell 
asleep. 

“ It works admirably ! It could not work better !” said 
Mrs. Llewell}^, as she locked the door of the state-room 
and returned to the deck. 

Although she had taken passage on the Baltimore 
steamer, her destination was not Baltimore city. She 
would not 3"et, for many reasons, venture to take Gladj^s 
into the State of Maryland. So, about midnight, when the 
boat stopped at Heathville, a small seaside town on the 
Virginia shore, she prepared to land. 

Glad3^s, in a state of stupor, was lifted from her berth 
and borne in the arms of a stout steamboat porter to the 
landing, and placed in a large travelling-carriage that was 
waiting there for the travellers. Their luggage was next 
brought from the boat and piled up behind and above the 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


225 


carriage. And then the porters returned to the boat, and 
the boat steamed on her way up the bay. 

Mrs. Llewellyn, left standing by the carriage, beckoned 
her coachman to come down. 

The deaf mute, Jude, obeyed, and stood before his mis- 
tress. 

It was a very lonely scene, and picturesque in its loneli- 
ness. The village was asleep ; its lights were darkened ; 
its houses closed ; its streets deserted. There had been no 
passengers or freight to be taken on to the passing steamer, 
and none to be put off her, with the exception of Mrs. 
Llewellyn and her charge, and their luggage. And if any 
wakeful inhabitant had heard the stopping of the passing 
steamer, he had probably turned over and gone to sleep 
again. The village was so still, that the only sound heard 
was that of the gentle surge of the waves upon the shore ; 
and so dark, that the only lights visible were the lamps of 
the travelling-carriage ; and so solitary, that the only life 
visible was that gathered around the carriage. 

Mrs. Llewellyn rapidly spelled upon her fingers the 
questions : 

“Are the horses quite fresh V' 

The mute nodded. 

“Are the roads good V' 

A nod. 

“ It is now twelve o’clock. We must make thirty miles 
before six to-morrow morning; then change horses and 
breakfast at Pebbletown ; and then get to Kader Idris by 
six in the evening. This can be done ?” 

Another nod. 

“ Mount your box, then, and drive as fast as is expedi- 
ent ; but don’t exhaust the horses at the onset,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn (with her fingers) as she got into the carriage. 

The deaf mute put up the steps, closed the door, mounted 
the box and drove off. 

I need not describe the journey at length. 

14 


226 THE EKIHE OF LLEWELLYN. 

At sunrise the next morning they stopped at a moun- 
tain hamlet and hotel, and changed horses. Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn did not leave the carriage, but had breakfast brought 
to her there ; and she ate heartily, and fed her victim on 
nutritious liquids, and drugged her with sedatives. And 
then, with fresh horses, resumed their journey. 

At noon they stopped at a village at the foot of the 
mountain, changed horses again, took luncheon in the car- 
riage, and with renewed strength went on their way. 

At night they reached Kader Idris, and poor Gladys, 
more dead than alive, was lifted from the carriage and con- 
veyed to her own room and laid upon her bed where Mrs. 
Llewellyn sat contemplating her in triumph. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE PALSIED HEART. 

’Tis sad to see the light of. beauty wane, 

Know eyes are dimming, bosoms shrivelling, feet 
Losing their lightness, limbs their lily ronndness’; 

But it is worse to know our heart-spring gone. 

To lose hope, care not for the coming ill. 

And feel all things go to decay with us. — Bailey. 

Mrs. Llewellyn knew that her victim was now abso- 
lutely in her power. So cunningly had that ruthless woman 
laid and carried out her j)lans that there was no possibility 
of her being detected in them. 

There had been a dark deed done beside the night-shaded 
waters of the Analostia ; but her only accomplice in that 
work had been a deaf, dumb, and half-idiotic negro, who 
knew just enough to obey his mistress’s commands and no 
more — commands that were communicated to him, not 
through the regular deaf and dumb alphabet, but through 
an arbitrary alphabet taught him by his mistress and Intel- 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 227 

ligible only to him and to linr. So he could not, if he 
would, betray her. She was safe in her crimes and Gladys 
was entirely in her power. 

“ So far, so well ! But now we must be more careful in 
the further administration of our sedatives. We wish to 
dull the intellect and subdue the will ; but we do not wish 
to destroy health and endanger life,” she said, as she gazed 
upon the pale, thin, placid face of her victim. 

Then, feeling sure that Gladys would sleep undisturbed 
through the night, Mrs. Llewellyn left her lying there, 
locked the chamber door upon her, and went down stairs to 
enjoy the luxurious supper and downy bed that had been 
prepared for her own comfort and refreshment. 

Early the next morning she visited her patient. 

Gladys was more awake and alive than she had been at 
any time since falling again into the hands of Mrs. Llewel- 
lyn. The effects of the drug had not, however, entirely 
passed away ; she was still rather quiet, and her voice was 
calm as she raised her eyes to the face of Mrs. Llewellyn 
and inquired : 

“ How came I here ? I seem to have come in a dream.” 

“ My dear, I brought you here ! to your own old home, 
to the only home now left you. Shall I explain ? I will 
do so, though the explanation will be a painful one to both 
of us. Soon after you left Washington, I learned, to my 
astonishment and sorrow, that we had all been deceived 
and that j^ou were deserted 

Mrs. Llewellyn paused and looked at Gladys to see how 
she would receive this communication. 

But the large dark eyes of the young wife were fixed in 
quiet wonder upon the face of the elder lady as though she 
d d not fully comprehend the purport of her words. 

“ I learned, also, that there was no such store-ship as the 
‘ Potomac^ at Portsmouth navy yard, and that Lieutenant 
Arthur Powis had certainly not been promoted to the rank 
of commander, but, on the contrary, had had his namo 


228 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


stricken off the navy list for absence from his ship without 
leave ’’ 

Again Mrs. Llewellyn paused to read the face of the 
listener. 

But the eyes of Gladys were unmoved in their non- 
comprehending gaze. 

‘‘All these facts I learned from the very best and most 
reliable authority — a naval officer of high rank whom I met 
at Alexandria. I lost no time in hurrying down to Norfolk 
after you ; for I could well imagine how desperate your situ- 
ation would be when you should discover the deception 
that had been practiced upon you — and upon us all. I 
arrived at Norfolk, learned by diligent inquiry the name of 
the hotel at which you had taken a room, went there, and 
traced you from there to the Portsmouth navy yard, where 
•I found you wandering the streets in such a fearful state 
of excitement as to border on insanity, and followed and 
tormented by a crowffi of rude boys, from whom I fortunately 
arrived in time to rescue you. Can you recall no part of 
this affair to your mind ?” said Mrs. Llewellyn, looking 
wistfully into the quiet face of Gladys. 

Gladys put both her hands up to her forehead and began 
to smooth it from the top to the temples, as if she would 
have cleared away the mists from her memory, and she an- 
swered, slowly : 

“Yes — all of it, I think ; but it seems like a distant, dread- 
ful dream.’’ 

“Then, you must know, my dearest, that Arthur Powis 
has left you !” 

“No!” said Gladys, almost with energy; “I know that 
he has not. I know that he is good, and true, and faithful ! 
I know that much, although I am so changed by grief, or 
illness, or anxiety, or something, that I scarcely know my- 
self! I am so dull and still that I can scarcely think or 
feel ; but I know that he is good and faithful, and I should 
know it even in my madness, if I should go mad — even in 


•THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


229 


my death, if I should die ! You caiinot shake my faith in 
Arthur, Mrs. Jay!’’ 

“ My poor child I What if I were to tell you that he had 
deceived you with a false marriage ? AVliat if I were to 
tell you that he had another wife living at the time he pre- 
tended to marry you?” 

“ I w^ould not believe it, Mrs. Jay !” 

“ What if I were to tell you that I met this other wile in 
Norfolk?” 

“ I would not believe it, Mrs. Jay 1” 

Gladys 1 do you mean to accuse me of falsehood ?” 

“ No, Mrs. Jay ; you may have met a woman who claimed 
to be Arthur’s wife ; but if you did, she must have told you 
a falsehood, or you must have misunderstood her.” 

“ Gladys, I can prove the truth of what I say. But I 
will not argue with j^ou now, my dear ; I will rather com- 
fort you. If he has deceived you with a false marriage, 
Gladys, you have the comfort of knowing that you are not 
to blame ; that the marriage, if false, is not binding ; that 
the fate that makes you desolate leaves you free ; and that 
you are once more safe in the home and among the friends 
of 3 ^our childhood.” 

“ My marriage was legal ; my husband is true ; and my 
faith in both is not to be shaken,” said Gladys, firmly, but 
very calmW ; for the influence of the sedative was still upon 
her ; and the words that in her normal condition would 
have burst forth in a passion of indignation and grief, now 
dropped in quietness from her lips. 

The entrance of the deaf mute with the breakfast tray 
put an end to the conversation. 

Gladys sat up and ate with some appetite, gently wonder- 
ing all the while, why she could not reflect or grieve, and 
why she could eat. 

In a few days, Gladys was out of her chamber and 
wandering in a listless manner about the house, and 
vaguely marvelling how she, a bereaved wife, scarcely 


230 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

knowing whether she were deserted or widowed, could 
not either feel or think, and yet could eat and sleep ! She 
was ignorant of the very existence of that powerful drug 
that was daily administered to her in her food. 

No key was turned on Gladys now; there was no neces- 
sity that there should be ; she was free to roam the house 
and grounds, and even the whole neighborhood, if she 
wished ; but there was no danger of her doing so, for the 
ruthless w^oman who played so recklessly upon her soul’s 
life, knew full well that Gladys was incapable of carrying 
out, or even forming a purpose. Her strange condition 
caused much anxiety and conjecture among the old ser- 
vants of the house. They had been told that Arthur 
Powis had eloped with her, and then abandoned her, leav- 
ing her ill, in debt, and among total strangers. But they 
did not believe this. And though they did not pretend 
to surmise the fate of Arthur, they gave a very decided 
opinion upon the case of Gladys, namely : that she was 
bewitched by the devilish spells of that potent sorceress, 
Mrs. Jay Llewell}^. And they were not very far wrong. 

“ You see, children,” said Allie, addressing her compan- 
ions in the kitchen, “ I should think as how she was a-fret- 
ting arter Marse Arthur, only you see she never does fret ; 
3^011 never see so much as a drop of water in her e3’es — so 
it aint that. And then, ag’in, I should think as her health 
was a-failing of her, onl3" you see she never refuses of her 
victuals, nor, likewise, loses of her sleep — and folks as is in 
bad health cant eat and sleep as she does ; so it aint that ! 
Now what can it be, then, ’less she’s huitched? And that’s 
just what’s the matter — she’s ^witchedd^ 

And this opinion seemed so reasonable, that it was unan- 
imously received and passed as the verdict of the kitchen. 

Old neighbors, old friends of the family, called to see 
Gladys. They had heard that she had made a scandal of 
some sort — had eloped with some young man, who had de- 
serted her, and that she had been brought back by her 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


231 


guardian ; but they could not ascertain the truth of the 
story from mere report; and it was much too delicate 
a matter to mention to any member of the family concerned. 

When they came to see Gladys, Mrs. Llewellyn threw no 
obstacle in the way of their meeting her ; but she put a 
very formidable bar against their conversing intelligibly 
with her. Always before sending for Gladys to come down 
and see the visitors, she would forewarn them that the intel- 
lect of her ward was in a very feeble and excitable condi- 
tion, and entreat them to be cautious how they talked with 
her. And then she herself would make it a point to be 
present at the interview, to see that her advice was followed. 
This course of conduct on the part of Mrs. Llewellyn, 
formed an effectual preventative to any confidential com- 
munications between Gladys and the old friends of her 
parents. 

And these old family friends always departed under the 
impression that Miss Llewellyn’s mind was seriously de- 
ranged. 

Thus passed the autumn months at Kader Idris, and 
brought at length December and the Christmas holidays, 
when Master James Stukely, aged eighteen years, was ex- 
pected home to spend that festive season. 

Mrs. Llewellyn had spoken freely, both in the house and 
in the neighborhood, of the approaching marriage of her 
son and her ward, which she said was fixed to take place 
at Christmas. And when she saw astonishment expressed 
in the face of any neighbor, who very naturally wondered 
that a girl whose mind was suspected to be deranged, should 
be supposed a fit subject for marriage, she would calmly 
explain that this marriage had been the favorite project of 
the late General Llewellyn ; and that upon her submitting 
the question to several eminent medical practitioners, they 
had decided that marriage was the only thing to save the 
reason of the patient, who was really after all, more ner- 
vous and hysterical than insane. And the simple country- 


232 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


people believed Mrs, Llewellyn, who had always been 
a sort of oracle among them. 

Greatly incensed were the old family servants when or- 
dered to begin preparations for the approaching marriage. 

“ It is a shame,’’ said Ailie, lifting up her hands and 
e3ms, “ a crying shame, first to put a spell on the gal to 
’witch her, and then take the advantage to marry of her oflT 
to that idiot of a Jim Stukey ! Mrs. Jay just does it all 
so that fellow o’ hern’ll come into the property, ’Pon my 
word, somebody ought to put a stop to it. For that poor 
gal, if she marries of that fellow, wont no more know what 
she’s a-doin’ of nor if she was a-walkin’ in her sleep. ’Tis 
’stonishing what has come over Miss Glad^^s, to make her 
so dull and heavy and onfeeling ; but I know it is a spell 
put on her by that old woman — I know it! And I’m 
a-going to watch her good from this time forth, to see if I 
can find out what it is. And I wish to the Lord, I do, as 
how I had begun to watch her before I I might a’ diskiv- 
ered somethink.” 

And true to her purpose, from that hour Ailie, with a 
caution, subtlety, and secretiveness only to be found in 
the African woman, began to play the spy upon Mrs. 
Llew'ellyn. She got a fellow-servant to do her work, while 
she dogged the steps of the suspected sorceress, of whom 
she very seldom lost sight, yet to whom she never once 
betrayed her proximity. Ailie had the most cunning wa}^ of 
gliding noiselessly about the house, slipping swiftlj^ behind 
doors or window-curtains, or into closets, or wardrobes, or 
under beds, or sofas, or somewhere else out of sight, and 
there l.ying in wait, listening and hearing all she wanted to 
know, that ever was possessed by rat, fox, negro or detec- 
tive. 

And in due course of time her perseverance was rewarded. 
She had bored a gimlet hole in the thin board partition 
that separated the pantr}^ from a closet, used by Mrs. 
Llewellyn for the storage of roots, seeds, dried herbs, and 


THE BKIDB OF LLEWELLYN. 


233 


domestic medicines — ^the key of which was always carefully 
retained by Mrs. Llewellyn. 

On a certain day she saw Mrs. Llewellyn go into this 
closet, and lock herself within it. Alice immediately stole 
into the jjantry and noiselessly turned the key — locking 
herself in. Then, with her eye screwed into the gimlet 
hole, she watched her mistress. 

She saw Mrs. Llewellyn open a little medicine-chest ; 
select several small vials, each containing powdered drugs ; 
take a pair of small scales ; weigh out certain portions of 
each drug, and carefully mix them all in one mass. Then 
she saw her cut a piece of white paper into four small 
squares ; divide the powder into four equal portions, and 
do them neatly ujd in the pieces of paper. Allie watched 
her until she saw her deposit the four little folded papers 
in her pocket book, and then replace the scales and bottles, 
and lock the medicine-chest. Then Ailie slipped out of 
the pantry to hide herself somewhere else, and lie in wait 
to discover Mrs. Llewellyn’s next motion. 

This time Ailie concealed herself within the closet of the 
dining-room, where the table was set for an early tea. 
Here a small fracture in the boards afforded Ailie a peeping- 
hole. And from this lair she watched the proceedings. 

She saw Mrs. Llewellyn come in, take her seat at the 
head of the table and ring the bell for the tea to be brought 
in. Lem answered the summons with the tea-urn. 

“ Let Miss Llewellyn know that tea waits,” said the lady. 
And Lem went out to obey the order. 

And Ailie watched “ with all her eyes.” She saw Mrs. 
Llewelljm’s hand go down to her pocket and withdraw the 
pocket bopk. Then, as the lady sat with her back to the 
closet, the hand with the pocket book in it went out of 
sight. And stare as she would through her peep-hole, Ailie 
could not see it — until — yQs\ the hand was suddenly 
raised with a small open paper in its fingers and held over 
a cup, on the right, into which a powder was poured. In 


234 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


another moment the empty paper was returned to the 
pocket, and the powder in the bottom of the cui3 was cov- 
ered with sugar and milk. 

All this Ailie saw from her ambuscade. 

“ That is it ! That is the spell she is a-putting on her ! 
But, sure’s my name’s Ailie Airie, she’ll never put another 
one arter this !” said the woman. 

In another moment, Gladys entered the room, and took 
her seat at the table silently, as was her dull custom now. 

Mrs. Llewellyn filled up the drugged cup with tea, and 
handed it to the victim, who, stirring it lazily, drank it 
leisurely. 

“ Is your tea agreeable ?” inquired Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ I — don’t know. Yes — I suppose so. I dare say — it is 
very good,” Gladys heavily replied. 

“ Now,” thought Ailie, from her hiding-place, “ I’d put it 
to any body as ever knowed our young mistiss before, if 
this dullness is natural to any one as used to be as full of 
life and fun and spirits as she was. The spell’s in them 
powders ! that’s where it is ; and I’ll let on to her about it 
as soon’s ever I get the first chance.” 

Gladys soon arose, and lounged lumpishly away from the 
table. 

But Ailie was obliged to remain in her hiding-place until 
Mrs. Llewellyn left the dining-room. 

Then Ailie made her escape, and went out to try and find 
an opportunity of speaking with her young mistress ; and 
she found it almost immediately. 

Mrs. Llewellyn had ordered the carriage for a drive ; and 
she soon came down stairs, bonneted and shawled, to drive 
to Standwell to meet her son, who was expected to arrive 
there by stage-coach from Charlottesville that evening. 

When the carriage containing Mrs. Llewellyn had rolled 
out of sight, Ailie went back into the house to search for 
her young mistress. 

She found her in the drawing-room, sitting back. in a 
large easy-chair before the fire, and apparently sleeping. 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


235 


“ Miss Gladys, honey I” said Ailie, tenderly, approaching 
her ; “ Miss Gladys, child !” 

Well, what do you want Ailie? I wish you would let 
me alone,” said the victim, indolently. 

“ Miss Gladys, honey, I want you to come up inter your 
own room, where I can lock the door, and talk with you 
confidential, without the fear of eaves-drappers afore my 
eyes.” 

“ Well, why can’t you talk here ? It is so tiresome to 
go all the way up stairs. And — I wish you would leave me 
alone.” 

“ Miss Gladys, chile, I wouldn’t disturb you, only you 
see — iVs about Marse Arthur said Ailie, very artfully, for 
she thought if there was one word beyond all others sure 
to rouse the attention of the young wife, it was the name 
of Arthur Powis, with the chance of hearing news of him. 

But there was no start, no change of color, no evidence 
whatever of excitement on the part of Glad^^s ; only the 
heavily lifted eyes and slowly formed question : 

Of — Arthur ? What — of Arthur ?” 

I want to talk to you about him, honey, if you will 
come up inter your own room, where we can talk confiden- 
tial, without nobody interrupting of us. Come, honey, 
said Ailie, gently and respectfully taking the hand of 
Gladys, partly to assist, partly to constrain her to arise. 

Gladys mechanically obeyed the motion, and allowed the 
colored woman to take her up stairs. 


236 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A HORRIBLE REVELATION. 

The sitting of thine eye and cheek proclaim 
A matter from thee ; and a birth indeed, 

Which throes thee much to yield. — Shalcspeare. 

Her friendship is a lurking snare, 

Her honor but an idle breath. 

Her smile the smile that traitors wear, 

Her love is hate, her kiss is death. — W. G. Simym, 

0 

When they reached her chamber, Gladys sank heavily 
into an easy-chair before the fire, and seemed to forget the 
very presence of her companion, as well as the subject they 
had conversed upon. 

Ailie locked the door, and then, using the privilege of an 
old family servant, she drew a chair to the fire and seated 
herself beside her mistress. 

‘‘ Miss Gladys, honey, I gwine to talk to you about Marse 
Arthur now, honey. Is you a-listening to me 

“ Yes — what about him ?” dully inquired the benumbed 
creature, without removing her eyes from the fire, into which 
they were vaguely staring ; “ what of Arthur 

“ Honey, they do say hereabouts as 3"ou did run away 
with him, but as how you really was married to him.’’ 

Here Ailie paused and looked at her young mistress ; 
but Gladys had relapsed into absence of mind, and sat 
staring into the fire, apparently oblivious of every thing. 

Oh ! dear me, how ’voking ! It is like trying to keep a 
drowning man afloat to try to keep her attention up to the 
top of any sensible talk,” complained Ailie, as she took and 
squeezed the arm of her young lad^q and inquired, ear- 
nestly. 

“ Miss Gladys, I wants you to ’tend to what I asks yon, 
and to answer me true : Was 3^ou really, and truly, and law- 
fully married to Marse Arthur?” 

“ Yes, I was,” said Glad^^s, indifferently. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 237 

“Are you sure of it, honey?” 

“ Yes, I am. But 3^011 tire me. I wish you’d leave me 
in peace,” said Glad3^s, languidly. 

“ My dear, dear child, would I leave you in peace if I 
saw you a-floating down the stream, right into the mill, to 
be ground up in the machinery ? No more will I leave 
you in peace now, for you is a-floating on, unconscious, to 
a worse destruction. Miss Gladys, honey, is you a-listen- 
ing to me ?” 

“ Yes — ^but if you knew how it tries my head to listen, 
you would not talk to me so much.” 

“It is to pluck you out as a brand from the burning that 
I talks to 3"Ou, honey. Miss Gladys, you say how you is 
really, and truty, and lawfully married to Marse Arthur?” 

“ Yes, I am.” 

“Well, then, honey, if you is really, and truly, and law 
fully married to Marse Arthur, how you gwine to marry 
Jim Stukey at Christmas. To marry two husbands is 
bigotry.” 

“I am not going to marry James Stukel3^ That is all 
nonsense. I am the wife of Arthur Powis,” Gladys replied, 
with such strange calmness that Ailie groaned in despair 
as she mentally asked herself the question : “ What will 
rouse her ?” Then she thought of something that might do 
so, and she inquired, solemnl3^ : 

“ Miss Gladys, hone3q where Marse Arthur ?” and she 
looked intently in the 3’'Oung wife’s face to watch the eflect 
of her words. 

But Gladys only passed her hand once or twice across 
her forehead, and answered, slowly : 

“ I — don’t know. He — is somewhere. He — will come 
back sometime. He is true !” 

He is true! that last sentence only was pronounced 
promptly and decisively. 

'Poor young wife I in the midst of her shattered intellect 
one idea was left unshaken — faith in her husband’s truth. 

Ailie gazed compassionatel3^ on her. 


238 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“Miss Gladys,’’ she said, “long as j^ou’s the wife of 
Marse Arthur, what will he say when he conies back and 
finds 3^011 married to another man?” 

Gladys frowned and looked somewhat perplexed and 
troubled, but not much either, as she answered, reprov- 
ingly : 

“ What nonsense you talk, Ailie ; your brain must be 
softening. What you fear can never occur ; and 3"ou offend 
me when you speak of such a chance. Arthur is true ; he 
will return ; and all will be well.” 

“ Laws, honey, I aint a-saying as he aint true to you, or 
as he wont return back again ; but I is a-saying as all will 
not be well unless you rouses of yourself and tends to my 
words,” persisted Ailie. 

And as Gladys did not reply, Ailie stooped forward and 
looked in her face. 

But since her last fretful answer, she had fallen into a 
deeper apathy than before. 

“Humph! Well, laws! it’s like lifting of a stalled 
wagon out’ll the mud ; fast as you gets up one wheel down 
goes another. Laws ! why didn’t I think of it before ! 
Haartzhorn gets people out’n faint3^-fits, and maybe it may 
get her out’n her stupid fit. I’ll try it,” suddenly exclaimed 
Ailie, as full of eagerness she started up and hurried down 
stairs. 

In a few minutes she returned, banging a mixed cordial 
of ammonia, which she placed at the lips of her 3"oung 
mistress. 

“ Miss Glad3^s, honey, drink this. It will do you a world 
of good.” 

“I do wish, Ailie, that you would let me alone. You 
are all of you always worrying me to do something, or 
take something, or say something,” exclaimed Gladys in a 
tone of vexation, as she received the glass. But, accus- 
tomed lately to do whatever she might be told to do, she 
drank off the cordial. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 239 

It acted like magic. 

Without well understanding the case, the poor, ignorant, 
but zealous colored woman had hit upon the very antidote 
of the poison, and had administered the most powerful 
stimulant to counteract the effects of the most potent 
sedative. 

As the ammonia quickly diffused itself through the 
deadened system of the unhappy girl, and gave her life, 
warmth, and sensibility, she looked up wonderingly in the 
face of her attendant, and then suddenly threw up her 
hands to her own face and wept long and passionately. 

“ Well, I don’t most in general like to see people cry ; 
but as for you, honey, I think it is a rale good beginning ; 
shows how you is a-coming to yourself Take some more 
haartzTiorn,'^^ said Ailie. And she flew down stairs, and in 
an incredibly short space of time returned with a second 
cordial of ammonia. And this time Gladys drank it off 
without a word of objection. It would have been too much 
for any one in a normal state of health, but not for Gladys, 
long benumbed by sedatives. The stimulant was just 
what she required. As she returned the glass to Adie she 
said : 

“ Oh, my good nurse, what has happened to me ? Have 
I been growing heartless or idiotic ? Oh I was ever any 
one in my position so utterly indifferent? My husband 
missing, perhaps murdered — Heaven only knows ! and I 
eating, drinking, and sleeping; thinking nothing, feeling 
nothing, and caring for nothing but my own ease 1 Oh, what 
has happened to me ? And what is going to happen ? I feel 
as if my life, or my senses, or, perhaps, even my soul, were 
lost, or about to be lost I What is the reason, Ailie ?” 

“ Honey, you hasn’t either lost your senses, or your life, 
or your soul. Hor likewise is you ’it her onfeeling, or on- 
sensible, or any thing. But ’deed you has acted so dull 
and dumb as we all had begun to think as you was ’witched.” 

’ Witched! What’s that ?” 


2-10 


THE BRIDE oF LLEWELLYN. 


“Well, honey, it’s ’witched with witchcraft as we-dem 
Ihonght you was. But you wa’n’t ’witched, honey, you was 
onlj'- dosed.” 

Dosed 

“ Yes, honey ; dosed eveiy day of 3"our life, if not at every 
singly meal you ate, with a dose to steal ^^our senses away 
and make you dull and stupid and submissive and easy to 
manage.” 

“ Oh, Ailie 1 Can this be true ?” exclaimed Glad3^s, in 
dismay. 

“As true as I am a living sinner. Miss Gladys. Ax 3^our- 
self ! What could a-put you in sich a dead-alive way but 
doses ?” 

“ Oh, Ailie ! Who has done this ? But I need not ask I 
There is but one human being in the world, as I trust and 
believe, who could be guilt3" of such black treachery.” 

“No, sure enough. You needn’t ask, Miss Gladys. 
You know a’ready as it was Mrs. Jay and no one else.” 

“ How did you find it out, Ailie ?” 

“ Honey, when we all seen 3^011 a-pining away and losing 
yourself,' not like a young gall, fretting and falling ill, but 
p’cisely like an ole ’oman a-drapping into her dotage, we all 
s’picioned Mrs. Jay the first thing. And as I telled you 
afore, hone3% first we s’picioned as how she had ’witched 
you with her witchcraft. And I set m3^self to 'watch her to 
see how she did it. And hadn’t I a time of it, a-following 
up that old ’oman and a-keeping out of her sight ? For, 
laws bless you, child, ef she had a-diskivered me a-sp3dng 
on to her, my life wouldn’t a-been worth the snuff of a can- 
dle ; she’d a-dosed me next. Well, honey, I bored gimblet- 
holes in out o’ the way places, in doors and partitions and 
sich. And at last, this precious evening, I diskivered some- 
thing ! She was in the ph3*sic-room, and I stole into the 
pantry and peeked at her through my gimblet-hole. And I 
seen her make the doses. But that didn’t prove nothink. 
She might a been making innocent ph3’'sick for some o’ the 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


241 


poor folks round. So I stole away and hid ni 3 ^self in the 
parlor cupboard ; cause you see, honej", the first tea-bell 
had ringed, and I knowed how she would come there next. 
Sure ’nough, so she did. And I peeked at her through my 
other peek-hole ; and I seen her — while she was a-sitting 
there all alone by herself afore you come in — I seen her, I 
jay, pour one of the little doses into your teacup and then 
kiver up the dose with cream and sugar — and then you 
come in and drank it I” 

Oh, Ailie ! you saw my cup drugged ! and you let me 
drink it ! Oh, Ailie ! you, my old nurse ! how could you — 
could you do it passionately exclaimed Gladys. 

Lors, child, what could I do? ’Sides which I knew it 
wasn’t rale rank p’ison as she was a givin’ of you ; for I 
knowed well she didn’t want to kill you,” said Ailie, apolo- 
getically. 

You should have rushed out and dashed the cup from 
my hand and denounced her as a poisoner!” 

“Yes, honey, and got myself tuk up and sent to jail for 
disorderly conduct and violence. And what good would 
that a-done an^^body ? ’Sides which, as I said afore, I 
knowed it wasn’t rank p’ison as she was a givin’ of you. I 

knowed she didn’t aim at your life ” 

“ Yo 1 but at all that made life worth the having — at my 
will ! at my conscience ! at my intellect I Oh, Heaven ! at 
my peace ! at my honor ! at my happiness ! Oh, Ailie ! 
Ailie ! how could you, could you stand by and see it done ! 
Why didn’t you, oh, why didn’t you, rush out and prevent 
it 1” bitterly exclaimed Gladys. 

“ Lord, hone}^, I dar’n’t do it for my life ! I am as ’fraid 
as death of that ole ’oman. ’Sides which, honey, I hadn’t 
no idee as she aimed at so many things as you say ! I 
thought in my soul as she only aimed to stupify you, 
and make you marry Jim Stukey when you wan’t a-know- 
ing what you was a-doing of! And the Lord knows I 
thought that was bad enough, but I didn’t think of any 
15 


242 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

thing worse ; and I hoped to be able to prevent that^ hura^ 
ble as I am. So ’’ 

marry James Stukelyl Gould there be any thing 
worse than that ? And j^et that must have been her final 
object! I marry James Stukely, indeed I Before I would 
do it, I would send a bullet through his brain, and think I 
had made a holy sacrifice !’’ cried Gladys, as all the ol^ 
Llewellyn fire flashed from her eyes. 

“ That’s right ! that’s you I You are coming to yourself 
again ! and that’s the way I like to see you, honey I” gladly 
exclaimed Ailie. 

“ Was it the ammonia you gave me that has restored me, 
do you think, Ailie ?” 

“ Oh, the haartzhorn ? Yes, honey, that fetched you to.” 

“ Well, then, bring me the vial, Ailie ! I may have 
occasion to resort to it again.” 

I will, honey, afore the evening is out. But now you 
make good use of the time while the old madam is away, 
and lay your plots ag’in hern. She mought be back and 
interrupt us any minute, you know. So it is better for to 
get through afore she comes. I can slip the haartzhorn in 
your hand any minute, you know. Now, honey, ’sider 
what is best to do.” 

“ The best plan is always the most straight-forward one — 
and that is for me to get up to-morrow morning and order 
the carriage, and drive to the nearest magistrate, and lay 
the whole case before him,” said Gladys, resolutely. 

“ Yes, honey, there aint no doubt as the best plan is the 
most straight-forward one long as you deal with straight- 
forward people ; but when you has to deal with carcumwen- 
ting folks, you must meet ’em with carcumwentions.” 

“ I don’t like crooked ways,” said Gladys. 

“ No more do I ! but, honey, though you ma^ have more 
book-larning than I has, you hasn’t got the experience of 
life as I has, or you would know as there’s a deal more 
crooked ways nor straight ones, in this world.” 


\ 

THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 243 ' 

' And even if it is so, I will take the straight instead of. 
the crooked !” 

“Yes, honey; but s’pose the straight leads you right 
over a prisypess, or up agin^ a black wall, or down into a 
dark hole? And s’pose the crooked one, going round and 
round, fetches you slow and sure right to the place where 
you want to go ? how then ?” 

“ I don’t believe the straight path would lead to any 
harm, or the crooked one to any good — there !” 

“ Listen to me, honey, and don’t let us talk any more 
mathephysics, but let us keep to the point. Now, ’spose 
3^ou take the straight road you are a-speaking of, and 
s’pose you get up in the morning and order the caiTiage, 
who do you think is gwine to obey the order ?” 

“ I should think an}^ of my father’s servants would obey 
any reasonable order of his only daughter, and sole heiress,” 
said Gladys, erecting her proud little head. 

“ Yes, honey, if she was of age, and mistress of the house. 
But, you see, she aint of age, nor likewise mistress of the 
house. She is a — what-do-you-call-it, and Mrs. Jay is mis- 
tress. ’Sides which, Mrs. Jay has done mystified some of 
the servants so, as they ralely do believe you is out of your 
mind, and so they wouldn’t venter to obey you ; and she 
has done terrified others so, as they dar’n’t do nothing agin 
her orders. So, you see, honey, as how you couldn’t get 
the use of your own carriage and servants, if you was to 
order ’em from morning till night!” 

“ Then I would walk.” 

“ Yes, hone3% and 3"OU would get just about half a dozen 
steps from the house, when you would be seized and fotch 
back.” 

“ Then I must be veiy cautious in my movements. But 
get to a magistrate’s office, I will.” 

“ Just so, hone3’; and if 3"ou should be so fort’nate as to 
get there and make 3"our complaint, the first thing as the 
magister would be bound to do would be to send for Mrs. 


244 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYIST. 

Jay to meet the charges agin her. Now, Mrs. Jay is a 
great lady in this neighborhood, and is a-growing greater 
every day. ’Sides which, she is your gardeen. ’Sides that, 
she’s done rejDorted how you run disreputable away ’long 
of a young man, and how he deserted you, leaving of you 
destitute among strangers, and how it took sich an effect 
on 3^ou as to run j'^ou crazy ; which, honey, your own state, 
brought on by the physic she give you, did perduce that 
impression on all that come to see you. Now, honey, you 
know she would tell her own stoiy to the magister. And 
she would send for the neighbors as saw you in your dumb, 
dull, ondifferent state, to prove as how your mind was 
weak. And who would be believed? Mrs. Jay, who is, 
right or wrong, a lady of standing in the neighborhood, 
and your own gardeen as well ; or you, a young gal as so 
much has been said agin, and so much would' be falsely 
swore agin ? Why, sartain, Mrs. Jay would be believed, 
for she would prove every thing she said to the magister’s 
sassagifaction ; whereas, you could prove nothing, not even 
as Mr. Powis hadn’t deserted 3-011, ’cause you can’t even 
tell where he is. And so 3^011 would be handed over to she, 
until you are of age, and then you’d be a deal worse off nor 
you are now, for she would be sure to take her spite out of 
you for trying to get away from her I And there would be 
the end of your straight-forrard road ; and how do 3’’oii 
like it, Miss Gladys ?” 

“ Oh, Heaven ! to be caught in the toils as I am I I am 
a poor sparrow in the fowler’s net ! a poor fly in the spider’s 
web ! What shall I do ?” 

‘‘ Fight the devil with his own weapons, hone3^ Car- 
cumwent carcumwentions with carcumwentions ! Cross 
crooked wa3^s with crooked wa3-s ! Or, to let alone mathe- 
physics and come to the point again, do this : — Stay quiet 
where you is, ’cause you aint got no other home, and this is 
the proper place for 3-011. And don’t let on to Mrs. Ja3- as 
you suspicion any think ag’in her, much less as you know 
any think. And la3- low and sa3^ nothink.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 245 

“And take her baleful drugs whenever she chooses to 
administer them I And commit the dreadful sin of marry- 
ing James Stukely whenever she has reduced me to a state 
of idiocy low enough to consent to do it — I’ll die first !” 

“No, no, no, no! nothink of that I You and me to- 
gether will carcumwent her carcumwentions ! And we will 
begin to-morrow morning. You know I waits on the 
breakfast table ? Well, honey, it is in the first cup as she 
always puts the drug, ’cause you see she wouldn’t have a 
chance o’ putting of it in another one without being seen. 
So it is in the first cup as she puts it. Now, honey, to- 
morrow morning, when you takes up your cup of coffee, 
you make your hand tremble and shake till it upsets the’ 
cup and spills the coffee ; then I will run and take away 
the cup and wipe up the slop, and bring you a clean cup. 
And so you will ’scape drinking of the physic, and without 
’citing her suspicion, as she will think it is all nervousness. 
And then at dinner, honey, don’t eat any thing but what 
can’t be p’isoned ; refuse the first things put on your plate 
and ask for a clean plate and choose somethink as can’t 
well be drugged. And you’ll ’scape the drug ag’in without 
’citing of suspicion, ’cause she will set it all down to a 
sickl}’- appetite. And at tea-time, honey, say as how you 
don’t like tea anymore, and you’ll take a glass of new milk, 
which I will run and bring it to you myself. And you’ll 
’scape the drug a third time and likewise without ’citing 
suspicion, for it will be set down to a changeable appetite. 
And meanwhile we can watch her ; and we can wait for 
what may turn up. And you, free from the drug, can 
keep all your wits about you, and show to every one as 
comes to the house how reasonable you are, and when the 
time comes, which I’m afraid it will come pretty soon, you 
can refuse p’int blank to marry Jim Stukey, which nobody 
on the face of the yeth can compel you for to take him. 
And at long last it is but to live long o’ your gardeen in 
your own mansion-house as comfortable as you can, for 


246 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN'.’ 


scarce three years, until you is of age, and comes into your 
^state, and then you can turn round on her and turn her 
out, and serve her right I So you see, hone^^ the crooked 
way may be the longest way round, but it is the surest 
way there ! And this is the longest speech as ever I made 
in all my life, and I hope you’ll tend to it, as I’m quite out 
o’ breath !” said Ailie, panting. 

“ Perhaps you are right, Ailie. I will think about it. 
But oh ! I would rather go out in the world, and earn my 
owm bread for the next three years, than live in the same 
house with this wdcked and dangerous woman !” 

Yes, honey, but you can’t do it. You aint got no ex- 
perience in anythink as money is made by. ’Sides which, 
she w^ould never let you go if she knowed it, she being your 
gardeen. And if you was to run away without her knowl- 
edge and consent, she would go after you and catch 3^ou, 
and maybe say you were mad, and clap you in a ’zylum, 
and that a way keep you out’n your own, not only for three 
years, but for just as long as she chooses.” 

Oh ! is there no way out of this misery ?” 

“ I don’t think there is, honey, exceptin’ the way I tells 
you of — to live here quiet, and live down scandal, and wait 
patient till you is of age, and can turn the tables on the ole 
madam.” 

While Ailie spoke, the sound of carriage wheels was 
heard approaching the house. 

“That’s her! Talk of the dee and his imps appear. I 
mustn’t be cotch having of a private confab ’long o’ you, 
honey, else she’ll s’picion somethink. But you mind and 
’member what I told you !”said Ailie, as she arose to leave 
the room. 

“I will — I will indeed, nurse.” 

Left alone, Gladys thought over all that she had just 
learned. 

“ I was wrong in reproaching my old nurse. She was 
right in not bursting out and violently interfering, for I 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 247 

see now that such a course would not only have been use- 
less, but dangerous. For I was then too far gone in apathy 
to have understood her ; and if I had not drank that drugged 
cup, I could easily have been cheated into drinking another 
very soon. And as for poor Ailie, she would have been 
punished for her violence, and sent away, or perhaps im- 
prisoned ; and I should have lost her services. She was 
right in other matters, too, for even if I were to go before 
a magistrate, how easy it would be to charge me with in- 
sanity, and establish the charge, too, especially as I have 
acted strangely. And if I were to accuse her of producing 
all those appearances of mental aberration in me, by the 
administration of those deadl}^ drugs, how easy it would be 
for her to repudiate the charge, by making it seem that the 
powders she gave me were harmless and beneficial medi- 
cines ! And the weight of her character would tip the 
scales of justice, and my cause would go down. No ! I 
will stay here quietly ; I will be patient and hopeful ; I 
will profit by Ailie’s lesson, and perhaps improve upon it ! 
There is Mrs. Llewellyn coming to my room. Now for a 
little acting I” said Gladys, as she heard the step of her 
guardian at the door. 

Gladys had just time to conceal the glass tumbler, from 
which she had drank the cordial of ammonia, under the 
valance of her resting-chair, settle herself back among the 
cushions, fix her eyes upon the smouldering fire, and assume 
that look of placid dullness that had never been natural, 
only lately been habitual, and was now merely a piece of 
fine acting for the purpose of evading Mrs. Llewellyn’s 
suspicions. 

“ Gladys, are you awake, my dear ?” inquired that evil 
woman, approaching her ward. 

Yes,” was the soft, dull, careless answer. 

Mrs. Llewellyn took the seat that had lately been vacated 
by Ailie, and drew it to the side of Gladys, and gazed into 
her face. 


248 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN". 


Gladys was lying back in the resting-chair, and staring 
stupidly into the smouldering fire. 

“Gladys, my love, your Cousin James has arrived,” said 
the lady, laying her hand carelessly upon the young wife’s 
shoulder. 

Gladys made no reply ; for she seemed never to speak 
unless compelled to do so by a question being pointedly 
put to or forced upon her. 

“ My dear, I tell you that your Cousin James Stukely 
has come to spend the Christmas holidays with us ; are 
you not glad of it ? Say, Gladys ?” 

“ I — Yes — Yo — I don’t know,” answered the wife of 
Arthur Powis, vaguely. 

“ Tut, tut, tut, my dear ! You don’t know whether you 
are glad of your cousin’s arrival or not. How is that, 
Gladys ?” 

“ I — What was it you said ? Say it again ?” 

“ Oh, dear I I said that your Cousin James Stukely has 
arrived from college, on a long visit to us. And I asked 
you if you are not glad to hear it ?” 

“ I — dare say I am. But — it tires me to think whether 1 
am or not.” 

“ Why, what do you mean, Gladys ?” 

“ I don’t mean any thing.” 

“ So you do not care about James’s coming?” 

“ I — No — Yes — I suppose I ought to — I dare say I do — 
But it tires me to think whether I do or not — I will care if 
you want me to,” said the young wife, stupidly and submis- 
sively. 

“ Gladys, my love, listen to me. It is not late ; it is only 
nine o’clock. And you are not undressed ; you are looking 
very nicely in your demi-toilette. Would you like to go 
down into the drawing-room and welcome your cousin ?” 
said Mrs. Jay, in an insinuating voice. 

“ I — don’t know whether I would or not. And — it tires 
me so to think — But — I will if you wish me to. I will — do 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


249 


any thing you wish, so you don’t ask me to think about it. 
It tires me so to think,” murmured Gladys — first pretending 
to rouse herself, and then affecting to relapse into torpor. 

“Ah, ha!” muttered Mrs. Jay to herself, as she gazed 
with satisfaction upon the seemingly stupefied young woman 
before her. “Ah, ha ! This is better than I could have 
desired. She is more of a senseless tool than I ever knew 
her to be. More even than I wished her to be ! Heavens I 
But it will be very easy now to put her through the mar- 
riage ceremony that shall make her the wife of James 
Stukely, and constitute him the proprietor of Kader Idris. 
We shall only have to tell her what to do and she will do 
it mechanically. Meanwhile I must leave her alone for the 
present, and wait until to-morrow morning to present her 
to her future husband, and the prospective Lord of the 
Manor of Kader Idris.” 

Then speaking aloud, she said ; 

“ Gladys, my love, I will not require you to go down 
stairs to-night. I see that you are really too wearied. I 
will leave you to repose. Good-night, my dear.” 

Gladys seemed too far gone in stupor to hear. 

But when Mrs. Jay had fairly turned her back to leave 
the room, the little actress looked over her shoulder and 
threw after the retreating figure of the traitress a glance 
and smile of triumph. 


CHAPTER XXL 

GUILE EOR GUILE. 

Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, 

Your hand, your tongue ; look lilte the innocent flower. 

But be — the serpent under it. — Shakspeare. 

The next morning the breakfast-parlor at Kader Idris 
wore quite a festive aspect. 

A roaring fire of hickory logs blazed in the broad old- 


250 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


fashioned chimney ; deep red-cushioned chairs were drawn 
up on each side of the hearth ; a thick red carpet covered 
the floor ; and heavy crimson curtains excluded the wintry 
blast. 

In the middle of the room stood the breakfast-table, 
draped with its snowy damask, adorned with its best silver 
and Sevres china, and covered with all the delicacies and 
luxuries of the place and the season. 

The room was as yet vacant. 

Mrs. Llewellyn and her son, James Stukely, entered to- 
gether. 

The last-named individual merits some description. 

He was a tall, long-limbed, narrow-shouldered, hollow- 
chested, sickly-looking lad of about eighteen years of age. • 
He had a small head, covered with scanty, sandy hair ; a 
long white face ; a receding forehead, and depressed chin, 
that made his thin aquiline nose look something like the 
beak of a bird ; and light-blue eyes, of no sort of expres- 
sion. He was dressed in a clerical suit of black, with a 
white cravat. 

He was x>assing through college with very little benefit 
to himself. He was capable of being educated up to a 
certain low point, but not above it. He possessed a fair 
memory, but a weak understanding. He could recollect, 
but not reflect. Of him his classmates were accustomed to 
say, that “ He had not his right change “he had a room 
to let in the attic “ he had a tile loose and other 
phrases joopularly accepted to illustrate deficiency of intel- 
lect. In general he was very easily managed ; but when 
his particular whim of the moment was crossed, he became 
ungovernable — grew, in common parlance, “ as obstinate as 
a mule.” Such was the mate proposed by Mrs. Llewellyn - 
for the bright, beautiful, and intelligent daughter of Gen- 
eral Llewellyn. 

Mrs. Llewellyn was speaking, as she preceded her son 
into the breakfast-x)arlor ; 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


251 .: 


“ This escapade of Gladys does not seriously affect her 
honor, you must know, Stukely.” 

“Ah, indeed !” exclaimed the young gentleman. 

“Certainly not. She believed herself a wife, and so, 
though the marriage was illegal, she Inust be held blame- 
less.” 

“ Extraordinary !” said Mr. Stukely. 

“Arthur Powis is missing.” 

“Ah, indeed !” 

“Yes; I told you so before. And it is not certainly 
known whether he has abandoned his supposed wife, and 
at the same time deserted the service, or whether he has 
been robbed and murdered.” 

“ Extraordinary !” 

“ In any case, Gladys is free ; was always free, in point 
of fact, since the marriage was illegal.” 

“Ah, indeed !” 

“ Yes ; so now the way is clear for you to woo and wed 
the wealthy heiress of Kader Idris, and become one of the 
richest landed proprietors of the country.” 

“ Extraordinary !” 

“James Stukely!” exclaimed the lady, impatiently, “I 
wish, once for all, that you would give up that idiotic and 
very irritating habit you have of interjecting ‘Ah, indeed 1’ 
and ‘Extraordinary I’ into the conversation, and saying 
nothing else.” 

“ But what do you want me to say, mother ?” 

“ Bah ! say any thing to show that you have listened to, 
and thought about, what I told you. Say what you think!” 

“ Well — I think — suppose she won’t have me ?” 

“ She will have you if you ask her.” 

“ Ah, indeed !” 

“ I shall advise her to do so ; and she is so docile now 
that she will do any thing I advise.” 

“ Extraordinary !” 

“ There you are again !” 


252 THE BRIDE OF LLEW ELLYN. 

“ Well, mother, what can I say 

“ Say what 3^011 think of all this !” 

“ Well, I think — suppose the other fellow should turn up 
with bowie-knives and six shooters 

“ If by ' the other* fellow’ you mean Arthur Powis, re- 
assure \^ourself. He is not going to ‘ turn up.’ He is safe 
enough.” 

“ Ah, indeed !” 

“ There 3^011 go again!” 

“ Well, mother, what shall I say ?” 

“ Whatever 3’ou think, stupid 1 I have told you so a 
dozen times.” 

“ Well, I think it is all very — extraordinaiy 1 ” 

Mrs. Llewell3m stamped with impatience ; but the angry 
repl3' that arose to her lips was arrested by the quiet en- 
trance of Glad3^s. 

Glad3^s, with her face deadly white, and her form clothed 
in deep black, looked the spectre of her former self 

“ Don’t forget to kiss her, stupid, when 3^011 speak to her,” 
hastily whispered Mrs. Llewelhm, as she left the side of 
her son, and went to meet Glad3^s. 

“ My darling, how are 3^011 this morning ? Here is your 
Cousin James, so anxious to see 3’ou and pa3" his respects,” 
said Mrs. Llewellyn, as she took the hand of Glad3^s, and 
led her toward the fire. 

‘‘ How do 3^011 do, Cousin Glad3' s ? I am sorry to see 3-011 
looking so badly,” said Mr. Stukely, snatching up the hand 
that Mrs. Llewell3m had let go, and making as if he would 
kiss her ; but Gladys drew back, and Mr. Stukely had not 
the impudence to follow up. 

Mrs. Lleweltyn frowned on him, and then rang the bell 
for the coflee to be brought in. 

Glad3^s did not speak ; she looked vacantly from the 
mother to the son, and then sank languidl3^ into her place 
at the table. 

Mrs. Llewell3m and Mr. Stukely took their places. The 
cofiee was brought in, and breakfast began. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 25^ 

Mrs. Llewellyn filled out a cup and banded it to her ward. 

Gladys took it, but her hand trembled excessively, and 
cup and coffee fell from it to the floor. 

“ How very nervous you are this morning, my dear!” said 
Mrs. Llewellyn, in a tone that she wished to make compas- 
sionate, but only succeeded in making querulous, as she 
rang the bell. 

Ailie, as by previous arrangement with Gladys, answered 
the summons. 

“ Bring a fresh cup and saucer here, and then pick these 
pieces of broken china and wipe up the slop,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn. 

When her orders were obeyed, she filled out a second cup 
of coffee, which with her own hands she placed safely before 
Gladys. 

And the breakfast proceeded without further interruption 

“ The day is so fine and bracing, that I think you had 
better take a drive this morning, Gladys. What do you 
say ?” inquired the lady. 

“If you please. Aunt Jay.” 

“It will do you good. Your cousin will drive you in 
the buggy with great pleasure, I know.” 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Stukely. 

“ Do you know, James, that Gladys has not taken a 
drive once since her return home.” 

“ Ah, indeed 1” 

“ No ; she has done nothing but mope about the house.” 

“ Extraordinary !” 

“ You must try to rouse her.” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Gladys, my dear,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, as they all 
arose from the table, “you had better go to your room 
and get ready. We will have the carriage at the door in 
half an hour.” 

“Yes, Aunt Jay,” said Gladys, leaving the room like 
one walking in her sleep. 


254 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Gladys went to her chamber and obediently put on her 
bonnet and cloak and sat down by the window to wait. 
But she had not really the slightest intention to take a 
tete-a-tete drive with James Stukely. 

Presently Mrs. Llewellyn entered the chamber, bringing 
a glass of wine in her hand. 

“ Here, my dear, you were so nervous at breakfast this 
morning, that you seem to require something to settle 
your nerves before 3"Ou go for your drive.” 

“ Thank you. Aunt Jay. Set it on the table, please.” 

You will not forget to drink it, my dear ?” 

“ Oh, no, indeed, I shall not forget it.” 

“ My dear, I will send for j^ou as soon as the carriage 
is ready.” 

“ Thank you, aunt.” 

‘‘ And — you will remember the glass of wine ?” 

“ Oh, yes, I will remember it.” 

Mrs. Llewellyn left the room. And when she was gone, 
Gladys arose and took the glass in her hand, saying : 

“ Oh, yes ! I will not forget the glass of wine ! I will 
remember it ! I will take good care of it I for I under- 
stand it! And some of these days, Mrs. Ja3", I may hang 
3"Ou with this glass of wine I” 

And Gladys took the glass and poured its contents into 
a clean vile, corked it tightly and locked it up in her 
dressing-case. Then she sat down in her chair and began 
to turn herself to stone as fast as she could. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Llewellyn communed with herself: 

“ I must keep her under the influence of the drug, if I 
wish to manage her. Already she had begun to recover a 
little, from not having taken it in her cofiee this morning. 
If I had not given her a dose in the wine, by noon she 
might have become quite troublesome. I had better make 
sure that she does not forget to drink the wine, however.” 

And so, instead of sending for Gladys when the carriage 
was ready, Mrs. Llewell^m went for her. On entering the 
chamber her first glance was at the glass. 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. ,.255 

It was empty. 

“ All right ! Gladys has taken the drug,’^ she thought. 
Then approaching the chair, she said : 

“ Gladys, my dear, the carriage is ready.’’ 

No answer. 

Mrs. Llewellyn stooped and looked at her. 

Gladys was sitting back in her chair and staring vacant- 
ly out of the window. 

“ Gladys, my love, the carriage is waiting.” 

No answer. 

Mrs. Llewellyn laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder and 
gently shook her, saying : 

“Gladys! Rouse yourself! Do you hear me? Your 
cousin is waiting to drive you out.” 

No answer. 

“Oh, dear, I have given her an over-dose, I do sup- 
pose! Or else, perhaps, its administration in wine has 
caused it to act more promptly and powerfully. Gla- 
dys ! Gladys, my dear !” exclaimed the lady, shaking her 
ward roughl}^ 

But not one word, good, bad or indifferent, could she 
get from the statue. 

“ I have given her an over-dose ! I must be more care- 
ful for the future. But after all, a fine drive in the fresh 
air will be the best thing for her, if I can get her to the 
buggy. Gladys !” said Mrs. Llewellyn, slipping her arm 
under the arm of the girl and attempting to lift her, hop- 
ing that she would mechanically obey the impulse and rise. 

But Gladys was a dead weight. 

Mrs. Llewellyn dropped her back in the chair, and went 
to the head of the stairs, and called her son. 

Mr. Stukely came sauntering up. 

“ She is in one of her strange moods. Give me your 
assistance here, James. If we can raise her to her feet, 
and lead her down stairs, the fresh air will recover her, 
and she will still be able to take her drive, which will 
certainly do her a great deal of good.” 


256 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN.' 

Mr. Stukely stared stupidly at the statue-like form of his 
cousin, and muttered : 

Extraordinary.” 

“ It is not serious, far less dangerous ; so you need not 
be alarmed, James. She is often thus.” 

‘'Ah ! indeed.” 

“ I wish you to help me.” 

“ Certainly.” ' 

Put you arms under one of hers, while I put mine 
under the other, and let us see if we cannot get her down 
stairs, and put her into the buggy.” 

They made the effort ; but Gladys was such a lifeless 
burden, that Mr. Stukely dropped his half of it, and said : 

“ It’s no go. She’s not fit.” 

“ What do you mean ? Yes, she is. The drive will do 
her good.” 

“ She’s not fit to gor; I can’t take her,” said Mr. Stukely. 

“ I tell you she will revive the moment she gets into the 
air, and she will quite recover when she begins to feel the 
motion of the carriage.” 

“ I can’t risk it.” 

Mr. Stukely was in one of his obstinate fits, and Mrs. 
Llewellyn knew that she might just as well attempt to 
move Mount Rock as to move him. She sent him out of 
the room, and soon followed him, leaving Gladys to re- 
cover at her leisure. 

Gladys condescended to come gradually to life in the 
course of the forenoon. She joined the family circle at 
dinner. And as she felt well assured that Mrs. Llewellyn 
would not attempt to dose her a second time that day, she 
ate her dinner freely and without the fear of poison before 
her eyes. 

Gladys acted skilfully — adroitly evading eA^ery attempt 
of Mrs. Llewellyn to administer a sedative or to force her 
into a tete-a-tete with James Stukely. And in the absence of 
the deadl}^ drug, her mind rapidly regained its healthy tone. 

But in the same proportion that her intellect recovered 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 257 

power, and her will strength, her anxiety and distress at 
her husband’s mysterious disappearance and prolonged 
absence revived and increased. She remembered, how- 
ever, that a man of Arthur Powis’s rank and profession 
could not disappear from the world without creating the 
greatest sensation, and setting on foot the most diligent 
investigation. She remembered also that she had been en- 
ticed away from the city, and entrapped into this remote 
country-house, before she had any opportunity of joining 
in the search for her missing husband. 

And so she resolved to write to certain parties in 
Washington. She wrote to the Secretary of the Navy, 
and also to the captain of the Neptune, entreating them to 
inform her what, if any, intelligence had been received 
of the missing lieutenant. And she intrusted the letters 
written to Ailie, to be posted at Standwell. 

She knew that more than a week must elapse before she 
could hope for answers ; and she resolved to bear the 
suspense as well as she could. But as day followed day 
without bringing her any comfort, her anxiety and distress 
increased. And the most difficult part of her acting was 
to conceal from the lynx eyes of Mrs. Llewellyn this grow- 
ing mental anguish, that must certainly, if perceived, have 
aroused that lady’s mind to a sus,picion of the truth. 

Meanwhile Christmas day drew near — Christmas day, 
which Mrs. Llewellyn had resolved to desecrate with the 
forced nuptials of her ward with her son. 

In every thing, except one, Gladys was all apathetic 
docility ; and Mrs. Llewellyn believed her to be still under 
the influence of the drugs which she supposed that she 
daily administered, but which Gladys always contrived to 
evade. That one thing to which Gladys would not submit 
was the marriage engagement to James Stukely. To every 
other proposition she answered, indiflerently, “ Yes,” “ if 
you like,” or “ Just as you please.” But to this one she 
always replied, “No,” “I will not,” or “I’ll die first.” 

16 


258 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“It is very provoking,’^ said Mrs. Llewellyn to her 
promising son. “ I can get her to do any thing in the 
world I ask her to do except to consent to marry you.’^ 

“ Extraordinary,” said Mr. Stukely. 

“ But never mind ! The preparations for the wedding 
shall go on all the same as if she had consented, and when 
all is ready I will dress her, and lead her down before the 
parson. And she will obey mechanically, and be married 
before she knows it.” 

“Not if /know it, she wont,” said Mr. Stukely. 

“ Why ? what now ?” demanded his mother. 

“ I want her to love me first.” 

“ To love you, you stupid blockhead ! What difference 
does it make whether she loves you or not ?” 

“A good deal to me.” 

“ Do you love her, then ?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“ Well, then, I will tell you this for your comfort, James, 
that twelve months after marriage it does not matter in the 
least degree whether the couple have married for love or 
for convenience.” 

“Ah, indeed ?” 

“No; because in twelve months after marriage, by the 
mere process of living together, the love of those who mar- 
ried for love will have cooled down to friendship ; and in 
the same space of time the indifference of those who mar- 
ried for convenience, will, by the same process, have warmed 
up to friendship.” 

“ Extraordinary.” 

“And I will tell you another thing : people that marry in 
positive dislike to each other, often love after marriage.” 

“Do they though, now, really ?” 

Yes ; and such will be the case with you and Gladys. 

“ I don’t dislike her, but she does me, I know.” 

“ She wont dislike you after marriage.” 

“ If I thought that I would risk it.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 259 

“ You may take your mother’s word for it, my son. I 
know women, and I know Gladys more than all women.” 
Extraordinary.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE FOILER FOILED. 

Do I not in plainest truth 

Tell you — I do not and I cannot love you. — SJiakspeare. 

Repulse upon repulse met ever — 

He gives not o’er, tho’ desperate of success. — MilUm. 

Mrs. Llewellyn kept her word, and vigorously pushed 
forward the preparations for the wicked wedding. 

A special license was procured. The services of the 
Reverend Mr. Kellogg, an old, imbecile, and superannuated 
minister of the gospel, who had long retired from the pulpit, 
were engaged. And the ceremony was arranged to be per- 
formed in the drawing-room of Kader Idris, at an early 
hour on the morning of Christmas day. 

Mrs. Llewellyn’s motives in the selection of time, place, 
and minister, were obvious. In the privacy of their se- 
cluded home, where few ever now intruded ; and on the 
forenoon of Christmas day, when all the rest of the world 
would be at church, they would surely be safe from observa- 
tion and interruption — a desideratum “ devoutly to be 
wished,” in case, at the last moment, Gladys should break 
out into open rebellion. And the doting old minister, 
pleased to the soul to be unexpectedly called upon once more 
to perform one of the pleasantest duties of his profession, 
was too blind, deaf, and credulous, to be dangerous. He 
would entertain no dark suspicions, ask no ugly questions, 
and make no public scandal, under any circumstances 
whatever. At least, so thought Mrs. Llewellyn. 

On the morning of Christmas eve, every thing was ready. 


260 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


In the evening of the same day, Ailie went up into her young 
mistress’s room and locked the door on the inside. Then, 
using her long-accorded privilege, she drew a low chair to 
her mistress’s feet, sat down on it, and said : 

“ I done been trying to get a chance to come and talk 
with you all this day, Miss Gladys, honey, but I aint been 
able to slip away from the madam until now. And now. 
Miss Gladys, I gwine ax you good — how far you gwine let 
this cussed-in-fun-nally nonsense — ^begging your pardon — 
go on ?” 

Gladys smiled ambiguously, but did not at once reply. 

‘‘ Honey, does you know how every thing is ready ?” 

“ Is it, Ailie ?” 

“ I believe you, honey ! You aint been down stairs to- 
day, so you aint seen nothing.” 

“ I have not been well, and Mrs. Jay has graciously 
allowed me to keep my room.” 

“Yes, honey ; she told we-dem down stairs as it was the 
proper thing for you to do ; and as all brides kept them- 
selves precluded the day before marridge ! But that wasn’t 
what I was a-going to tell you, honey. I was a-going to 
tell 3^ou what they has been a-doing of down stairs. First 
of all, they’ve depredated the drawing-room most beautiful 
with all the flowers out’n the greenhouse.” 

“I am afraid they have depredated the greenhouse to 
decorate the drawing-room,” smiled Gladys. 

“ Well, yes, I believe it was deck-o-rate ; though why 
they should call it ‘ deck,’ seeing it aint a ship, I don’t 
know ! And they’ve set — sich a breakfast-table in the din- 
ing-room ! with a pound-cake on it about a yard a half 
high ; which whoever heard of pound-cake for breakfast ! 
I do think how the old madam is getting luny !” 

“ I believe pound-cakes are usual at wedding breakfasts, 
Ailie.” 

“Well, I think it’s contemptu-ous. But that’s nyther 
here nor there I Well, and Mr. Jim Stukey’s wedding-suit 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


261 


is come home — which it is blue broadcloth, lined with white 
satin, and with ’broidered blue silk buttons!” 

“ How fine 1 ” smiled Gladys. 

“Yes! and yourii has come, which it is white satin, 
trimmed with white lace flounces, with a white vail and 
wreath. And which the ole madam was just about to have 
it fotch up to you, to see it tried on herself, when lo ! and 
behold ! who should drive up but that ’ere doty ole par- 
son ; Mr. — Mr. — I forget his ugly name.” 

“ What doty ole parson, Katy 

“ Him as was bespoken to for to ’form the marridge sir- 
rimony ; which much good may it do him ! Mr. — Mr. — 
Lord, chile, you know who I mean — him as was super- 
ambulated out’ll the pulpit for being too old to preach, 
about ten years ago, come next Easter — which it was the 
first time as ever I heard tell as ole age was a sin in any 
body let alone a minister.” 

“ Oh, you mean Mr. Kellogg.” 

“ Yes, honey, Mr. Kill-hog, and a pretty name that is for 
a reverunt parson ! Well, anywaj^s, he’s come over night 
so as to be here airly enough in the morning. And the ole 
madam she showed him the license, and I seen her do it.” 

“What did he sajL Ailie?” 

“ Well, he read it to hisself, he did so ; and he said, says 
he, ‘A hum-hum.’ And ‘a ha-ha.’ And the old madam 
says, says she, ‘Quite so, sir; you are quite right.’ And 
then I come away ; for I was perfectly misgusted to hear 
how that poor old fellow hummed and ha’d and driveled, 
and how that ole cuss — begging your pardon. Miss Gladys 
— fooled and flattered of him. And then I took the op- 
portunity, which it is the first one I have had this live long 
day, to come up here and talk long o’ you.” 

“ It was thoughtful of you, Ailie.” 

“And now, honey, I axes of you ag’in, good, and I wants 
you to answer me — How long 3^011 gwine let this funnelly 
foolishness go on ?” 

Again Gladys smiled dubiously as she answered: 


262 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Again Gladys smiled dubiously as she answered : 

“ Just so long as I please, Ailie, and no longer. I have 
told Mrs. Llewellyn that I will not marry James Stukely ; 
but I have told her so without excitement, and so she does 
not believe that I am in earnest. She thinks from my calm- 
ness that I am still under the influence of her accursed 
drugs ; still indifferent ; still apathetic to fatuit}^ ; and that 
if she should give me an extra dose at the last hour she will 
be able to fool me into doing exactl}^ what she wishes. 
Well, I will humor her to a certain extent. I will allow 
her to deceive herself. I will allow her to take me before 
the minister. But then, Ailie, you will see what will happen !” 

Honey, I wouldn’t let things go as far as that. ’Deed 
wouldn’t I. It’s dangerous play venturing too nigh the 
edge o’ the prissypess, and that I tell you — goocl!’’^ 

“ I can take care of myself, Ailie ?” 

‘AYell, honey, I aint so dead sure ’bout that ; so I shall 
pray hard to-night as the Lord will take care of you. Laws- 
a-mercy 1 if there aint the ole madam a-coming out’n the 
parlor now ; and I dessay as she’s a making right for this 
here room, so I must run away,” said Ailie, making good 
her retreat. 

Mrs. Llewellyn soon after entered, followed by one of the 
3 munger maid-servants bearing the bridal-dress. 

^‘Here, my dear, I wish you to tiy this on,” said the lady. 

Gladys arose with a smile, divested herself of her mourn- ' 
ing robes, and allowed her aunt to arra}-" her in bridal cos- 
tume, i:)lacing the vail over her head and the wreath on her 
brow. 

The effect is beautiful,” said the lady, leading her docile 
ward up to a tall dressing-glass. “ Look, my dear !” 

Gladys glanced at the reflection of her form in the mirror 
and smiled — a strange, ambiguous, threatening smile, if 
Mrs Llewellyn conld have read it aright. 

“You will be reasonable now, my dear, I hope, and re- 
concile yourself to a measure in which your honor and 
happiness are concerned. Will you not?” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 263 

“ 1 will do almost any thing you wish me to do, Aunt Jay.’^ 

“ That is right. That is the way in which I like to hear 
you speak.” 

“ What is it you wish me to do now?” 

“Nothing now. Something to-morrow. Good-night, 
love,” replied Mrs. Jay, kissing her. 

“ She is coming to life again. She is asking questions. 
I must give her a heavier dose to-morrow,” said the lady, 
as she left the room. 

A brighter Christmas day than that on which the wicked 
wedding was arranged to take place never dawned. A 
heavy snow had fallen during the night and covered the 
ground thickly with a bridal mantle of pure white. Toward 
morning the sky had cleared off very cold, and the frost 
had adorned every tree and bush with crusted clusters of 
pearls and diamonds, so that when the sun arose the whole 
scene was lighted up with dazzling splendor. 

Within the house all was bustle and preparation. The 
members of the household were early astir. In the drawing- 
room a white marble table was arranged and decorated as 
an altar ; and the “ church service,” the marriage license, 
and the wedding-ring laid ready upon it. In the dining- 
room a luxurious breakfast was prepared for a small party. 
And in the little morning-room a preliminary meal was laid 
for three— Mrs. Llewellyn, Mr. Kellogg, and Mr. Stukely. 

Within the chamber of Gladys all continued dark and 
still. She had not been able to compose herself to sleep 
until long after midnight, and when she did so she slept 
until a late hour in the morning. It was ten o’clock when 
she rang her bell. 

Ailie answered the summons, bringing with her a tray 
upon which was arranged a delicate and tempting repast. 

“ Here, honey. I done outwitted the ole madam this 
morning. I done got your breakfast with my own hands 
’fore she came down, so as to have it ready to put on the 
tray and fetch right up to you the minute you rung your 


264 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


bell, afore she could send you up any poisoned truck. And, 
fortinit, she is at the present moment of time in her own 
room a-dressing for the sirrimunny. And so now, honey? 
you can ’joy of your eating ’dout the fear o’ being p’isoned,’> 
said Ailie, as she sat the tray upon the stand. 

“ I thank you, Ailie ; you are very thoughtful,” said 
Gladys, as she arose. She bathed her face and hands, 
threw on a dressing-gown, and sat down to drink her 
chocolate. 

“ Now, honey, you know when ole madam sends up her 
fixed-up breakfas’ for you you can just let her know, quiet 
like, as you have been beforehand with her.” 

“ Yes, Ailie. Oh, how long is this state of things to last ? 

V How long must I eat and drink, and even sleep, in the con- 
stant fear of treachery?” 

‘‘ Lord knows, honey, for I don’t. I gwine to ax for a 
holiday this precious Christmas day as ever Tvas, and I 
gwine over to Standwell to see if there is any letters for 
you in the pos’-ofiice.” 

“Thank you, Ailie. Oh, do, do; this suspense is hor- 
rible.” 

“ Think I don’t know that ? But don’t fret more’n you 
can help, honey ; it don’t do no good. Eat 3"our wittles 
and live in hopes of hearing good news.” 

“ I will try to do so, Ailie. You need not wait. You 
may leave these things here. They will prove to Mrs. Jay 
that I have forstalled her.” 

“Yery well, honey. Bing when you want me ag’in,” 
said Ailie, as she left the room. 

Not long after Mrs. Llewellyn entered the room. She 
was beautifully dressed in a lavender-colored moire-antique, 
with a black lace mantel. She was followed by her own 
maid bearing a well-covered tray. 

“ Good morning, my dear. I hope 3-011 rested well last 
night. Here is your breakfast. Set it down, Maria.” 

“ I thank you. Aunt Jay ; but I have breakfasted already. 
See there,” said Gladys, pointing to the litter of her meal. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 265 

“ Ailie is too officious. What did she bring you here ? 
Chocolate ! that is very improper in your delicate state of 
health ! much too heavy ! Here I Maria, take all these ^ 
things away, and then come back and help to dress your 
young lady,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, in a tone of vexation. 

The girl did as she was bid ; and after removing both 
breakfast services, and laying out all the bridal finery, she 
stood waiting further orders. 

“ Come, Gladys, it is time to dress yourself, my love.” 

“Well Aunt Jay, I will dress. I will do any thing you 
wish me to do — except one.” 

“You will do all that is right, my dear. But you look 
pale. I must bring you a glass of wine to give you some 
strength before j^ou begin,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, leaving 
the room for the expressed purpose. 

Gladys looked after her with a bitter smile, and then 
walked slowly up to the fireplace and leaned her elbow on 
the mantle-shelf. There was a design in the attitude that 
Gladys took. 

Presently Mrs. Llewellyn came, bringing a large glass 
of port wine, which she put into the hands of her ward, 
saying : 

“Drink it my dear, it will revive you.” 

“ Wine often does revive me when I am faint. What a 
fine bouquet this has,” said Gladys, receiving the glass, 
putting it to her nose, and inhaling the aroma with appar- 
ent satisfaction. 

Mrs. Llewellyn, little suspecting the purpose of Gladys, 
turned away to arrange some of the bridal finery. 

Gladys continued to sniff at the wine, (which of course 
she knew to be drugged,) and to watch the motions of 
Mrs. Llewellyn as they were reflected in the mantle glass. 
Presently she saw Mrs. Llewellyn turn her back and stoop 
over the bridal dress to do something to it. Then in an 
instant, Gladys poured the contents of the wineglass into 
the ashes under the grate, and raised the empty glass to 


266 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


her lips and pretended to drain it just as Mrs. Llewellyn 
turned again. 

Come dear, are you ready 

“ Yes, Aunt Jay.” 

Now commenced a skilfull piece of acting. Gladys 
seated herself in her dressing-chair, and became perfectly 
quiescent while they tortured her straight black hair into 
ripples and plaits, and while they pearl-powdered and 
rouged her pure pale face. And when they told her to 
stand up and have her dress put on, she obeyed like an 
automaton. The vail and wreath were added ; the gloves 
slipped on ; the bouquet placed in her hand ; and she was 
pronounced to be ready. 

“And now, my darling girl, you will go down to be mar- 
ried — will you not?” whispered Mrs. Jay. 

“ Oh yes. Aunt Jay, I will go down to be married,” re- 
plied Gladys, heavily. “But I will not be married after I 
get down, for all that,” she added mentally. 

“ It is all right. The drug works. She will now do all 
that she is told to do,” said Mrs. Llewellyn to herself. 

Maria opened the door and held it open. 

Mrs. Llewellyn led Gladys forth. 

Mr. Stukely was waiting in the passage to receive her. 

“ Take her on your arm, James, and lead her down 
stairs,” said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

Mr. Stukely advanced and drew Gladys’ arm within his 
own, saying, as he did so : 

“ Cousin, I don’t quite know as a fellow is doing right in 
marrying a girl when he don’t even know whether a girl 
likes a fellow or not.” 

“ Never mind !” said Gladys, sleepily. 

“ Well, if you don’t mind, lam sure I needn’t.” 

“ All right.” 

“ Oh, if it is all right, enough said. Come along !” 

And Mr. Stukely drew the arm of Gladys within his 
own, and led her down stairs 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 267 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

THE MARRIAGE SCENE. 

If you oblige me suddenly to choose, 

My choice is made— and I must you refuse . — Drydcn 

The lower hall was lined with the servants of the family, 
all in their holiday clothes, assembled to witness the mar- 
riage. They were drawn up on either side, leaving a way 
free for the bride and bridegroom to pass. There was not 
one smiling faee among them. All were grave 5 some were 
tearful. Ailie stood near the drawing-room door, where she 
could see all that was going on. 

Stukely led Gladys through this array of domestics on 
into the drawing-room. 

There was no one in the room except the Reverend Mr. 
Kellogg, who stood immediately before the marble table 
that had been arrayed and decorated as an altar. 

Stukely led Gladys up before the minister. 

Mrs. Llewellyn followed, and stood behind them. 

The doors had been left open that the servants might 
■witness the marriage. 

The minister was a tall, finely-formed, most reverend- 
looking patriarch, whose mild blue eyes beamed with be- 
nevolence, whose fair, noble features were seamed with 
many wrinkles, and whose long white hair, parted over his 
forehead, rolled down each side in fiowing silvery locks 
upon his black cassock. He smiled the feeble smile of 
age upon the young couple before him, and murmured to 
himself, as if thinking aloud : 

“ Why, I married her grandmother ; and I married her 
mother ; and now to think that I should live to marry 
her 

“Extraordinary!” muttered the bridegroom in reply, 
although nobody had spoken to him. 


268 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Be SO good as to commence the ceremony, if you please, 
sir. My ward is not well, and may not be able to bear the 
fatigue of standing long,” said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

The old minister bowed gravely in reply — and then 
opened tlie book, and in an impressive voice began to read 
the preliminary exordium. 

Gladys allowed him to proceed until he arrived at these 
words : 

“ If siny person here present can show just cause why 
this man and this woman ma}^ not lawfully be joined to- 
gether, let them now declare it, or else forever after hold 
their peace.” ^ 

During the short pause that followed, Gladys turned and 
looked steadfastly into the face of Mrs. Llewellyn ; but the 
eyes of that lady were gravely bent upon the ground. 

The minister proceeded with the ceremony. Addressing 
now the young pair before him, he uttered the solemn ad- 
juration of the ritual : 

“ I require and charge you both, as ye shall answer at 
the dreadful Day of Judgment, when the secrets of all 
hearts shall be disclosed , that if either of 3"ou know' any 
impediment wh}' ye may not be law'full^' joined together in 
matrimonjq 3'e do now confess it.” 

“ I WILL !” said Glad3's, suddenly tearing off her bridal 
vail and wreath and casting them from her. 

The old minister dropped his book and stared with 
astonishment. Though he had distinctly challenged this 
interruption, he had not expected it. 

The bridegroom muttered, “ Extraordinary I” 

The servants pressed in from the hall to see what was 
the matter. 

Mrs. Llew'ellyn laid her hand heavily upon the shoulder 
of the bride, and in a deep, low, stern voice whispered : 

‘‘ Glad3"s ! what are you about? Be silent until you are 
told to speak, and then speak as 3'ou are told.” 

Then turning to the minister, she said aloud: 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. ' 269 


“ Proceed with the ceremony, sir. My ward is onl}^ ec- 
centric and capricious ; surely yon knew that before ! It is 
useless to pay any attention to what she says. Proceed.” 

“ I married her grandmother, I married her mother, and 
I have lived long enough to marry her, yet never did I 
experience such an interruption ^before !” said the old man, 
appealing generally to the room and furniture. 

“ Extraordinary I” said the bridegroom. 

‘‘Go on with the service, if you please, sir,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn, who had a confident and commanding way that 
usually compelled obedience from most persons with whom 
she had to deal. 

The old minister mechanically took up the book to re- 
commence. 

“ Stop,” said Gladys. 

And quick as at a military command he stopped. 

“Go on, sir!” said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

The old man looked helplessly from one speaker to the 
other. 

“ Listen to me,” said Gladys. 

“Proceed with the ceremony,” commanded Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn. 

“ But I cannot until I hear what the young lady has to 
say,” pleaded the old man. 

Gladys lifted up her head. Excitement had brought 
back light to her eyes and color to her cheeks and lips. 
She looked strong, spirited, and beautiful as she spoke. 

“You just now, in the words of the ritual, charged us 
both as we should answer at the dreadful Day of Judg- 
ment, if either of us knew any cause why we could not 
lawfully be united, now to confess it. I will! T have 
waited long for the opportunity to speak. I gladly em- 
brace it.” 

“ She is mad — perfectly mad ! Pray, sir, pay no atten- 
tion to her ravings, but proceed with the ceremony,” said 
Mrs. Llewell}^. 


270 ' THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ But, my gOQcl lady, if the young girl is mad, she is in- 
competent to marry,’’ objected the minister, closing his 
book and laying it on the table. 

“Oh, sir, hear me at least before you judge me. You say 
you were the friend of my mother and even of my grand- 
mother. Oh I sir, if 3^011 Vere really so, pity and save their 
orphan child !” pleaded Gladys. 

“My dear, you may trust me. I desire nothing more 
than to do you good,” said the old man, mildly. “ Though 
wh3" 3^ou should come before me to be married and then 
suddenly object to the proceedings, of course I cannot 
imagine. 

“ Who can imagine the why and wherefore of a lunatic’s 
actions,” sneered Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ My good madam, if the young lad}" is a lunatic, 3^011 
should never have permitted her to place herself in this po- 
sition.” 

“ Sir, I am no lunatic. You expressed some surprise 
just now that I should have come before 3"Ou to be mar- 
ried and then should have objected to the proceedings. 
Oh, sir, when you have heard the story that I have to tell, 
you will understand that in doing as I have done lay my 
only chance of deliverance from persecution and danger. I 
consented to be dressed in bridal array and led before 3"Ou 
as a bride elect, only that I might have this opportunity 
of disclosing my real situation to one whose very cloth 
obliges him to be just and merciful. Sir, that lady there, 
who would force or betray me into a felonious marriage, 
knows that I am already a wife. ” 

“A wife ! She is a raving maniac !” cried Mrs. Llewell}"!!. 

“ My good lad}^, if she is indeed a raving maniac, she is 
as incompetent to enter into this marriage as if she were 
already a w^edded -wife. But let me hear what she has to 
sa}". Explain yourself, my child.” 

Thus encouraged, Gladys commenced, and poured forth 
to attentive ears the histoiy of her marriage. And so long 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 271 

as she spoke of the events that had preceded the mysteri- 
ous disappearance of her husband, and her consequent 
severe illness at Ceres Cottage, her story was clear, concise, 
and perfectly consistent, and evidently impressed the old 
minister with its fidelity and truthfulness. But when she 
came to talk of her voyage down the Chesapeake in search 
of her husband : her adventures at Norfolk ; her meeting 
with Mrs. Llewellyn ; her journey back into Virginia ; and 
her sufferings at Kader Idris under the infiuence of drugs 
administered by Mrs. Llewellyn, her narrative grew obscure, 
rambling, and often contradictory, so that the old minister 
was shaken in his faith. 

There were many good reasons for this difference in the 
style of the poor girPs narration. The events that had pre- 
ceded the disappearance of her husband had all transpired 
while she was yet sound in mind and body. The events 
that followed had all happened while she was ill, imper- 
fectly convalescent, or under the influence of stupefying 
drugs. Therefore, her remembrance of the first epoch was 
perfectly distinct, while her recollection of the second was 
very obscure. Another difficulty in the second part of her 
narrative was this — that while speaking of the drugs that 
had been administered to her, she felt in honor bound to 
refrain from exposing the agenc}^ of Ailie in discovering 
the teachery. 

But the old minister, not having the key to the mystery, 
simply thought that Gladys was a little toiiched in the 
brain. 

“ Well, sir,’’ said Mrs. Llewelfyn, as soon as Gladys had 
finished her narrative, “ and what do you think of that ?” 

“ I do not know what to think, madam, except this, that 
the young lady is not a proper subject for matrimony, and 
that, therefore, I must decline to perform the ceremony,” 
said the minister, gravely. 

“As you please, sir. But now, as you have lent a very 
attentive ear to this girl’s insane imaginings, I require you 


272 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN". 


to listen to my explanation of them,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, 
lianglitity. 

That is but just, madam,” answered the minister. 

“ Oh, I say, look here ! If there is to be another long 
story, let’s all sit down. Standing so long is very weari- 
some, and cousin Gladys is ready to drop,” said Mr 
Stukely. 

This proposition was too reasonable to be opposed. 

The old minister immediately took the hand of Gladys, 
and with the stately courtesy of the olden time, led her to 
an easy-chair, and placed her in it. And all seated them- 
selves. 

Mrs. Llewellyn commenced her defence. 

It was a cruel story that she told of Gladys and Arthur. 
She represented Gladys as a wilful and imprudent girl, who 
had alwa3^s given her parents the greatest anxiety and dis- 
tress. And she spoke of Arthur as an idle and unprinci- 
pled fortune-hunter, who had basely betrayed the hospitality 
of General Llewellyn by winning the affection of his daugh- 
ter. She spoke of their marriage as a disgraceful elope- 
ment which had ended in the dishonor of her ward. She 
said that she had followed Gladys to rescue her if possible 
from a life of infamy ; that she had found the miserale girl 
living among low people — deserted, ill, and nearly dying. 
She related that, upon subsequent investigation, she had 
discovered that the shameless villain who had eloped with 
Glade'S had abandoned her, fl3dng, it was supposed, from a 
threatened prosecution for bigamy by the friends of his 
real wife, for he was already a married man ; that she her- 
self had seen and conversed with his wife. She said that 
after a great deal of trouble she had succeeded in getting 
Glad3’^s safely home again. But that her sorrows had so 
shaken her nervous system as to threaten, if not to involve 
her reason ; that she, Mrs. Llewellyn, was not willing to 
expose family secrets of so painful a nature by calling in a 
physician ; but that she had “ ministered to the mind dis- 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 273 

eased” as her experience best taught her to do ; and that 
this gave rise to the story of the drugs. She said farther 
that at length she had confidently consulted a physician 
upon the case of her unfortunate ward, and that the physi- 
cian had advised a speed 3^ marriage for the girl. And also 
that Glad3"s, previous to her elopement, had been the 
promised bride of her son, James Stukely ; that this union 
had been a favorite project with both the girl’s deceased 
parents ; and that as neither herself — Mrs. Llewellyn — nor 
her son, Mr. Stukely, had considered Gladys criminal in 
the matter of the false marriage into which she had been 
betrayed, they had decided to pardon the past and proceed 
with the present marriage ; that the girl had agreed to the 
proposal ; and that it could be only from the caprice of 
an insanity much more serious than she had ever suspected, 
that Glad3^s so suddenly, at the very last moment changed 
her mind. 

‘'And now, sir,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, in conclusion, “ I 
hope that I have sufficiently refuted the insane charges of 
my misguided ward.” 

“ I do not know what to think of all this, madam. I 
must take time to reflect. But of one thing I am sure, that 
the young lad}^ is no fit subject for matrimony, and that 
therefore I have no further business here,” said the feeble 
old man, rising and preparing to depart. 

“ Oh, sir !” exclaimed Glad3^s, starting up and clasping 
her hands in agony. “ Do not quite desert my cause I It 
was not for this that I came before 3^011 ! It was to appeal 
to you for help, for deliverance I There must be some 
power, somewhere, that is able to free me from the control 
of a false guardian ! There is an Orphans’ Court, is there 
not ? Oh, sir, only try to procure for me a hearing from 
the Orphans’ Court, and I will thank and bless you for- 
ever.” 

“ My good child,” said the old man, doubtfully, “I mar- 
ried 3^our grandmother, and I married your mother, and I 
17 


274 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


almost married you. And I would do any thing in reason 
for you ; for I pity you very much. But in this case, I 
really do not know how to proceed. On the one hand, it 
seems only just that an orphan girl should have a hearing 
before the Orphans’ Court if she should desire it, for that 
court w'as established for her benefit. But then, on the 
other hand, it seems insulting to this lady to appeal 
from her authority ; for she is a lady of the highest stand- 
ing in character and position, and she is the guardian 
selected for you by the will of your late lamented parents. 
And as such you are bound to obey her. I think, my dear 
child, that you had better submit yourself to her guidance ; 
for she really seems to have your interests very much at 
heart — yes, even to the extent of taking you for her daugh- 
ter-in-law, notwithstanding misfortunes that might have 
precluded any less just and generous woman from doing 
so. Be patient, 1113^ child. It is all for 3'our good.” 

“ For my good ? For my good to be separated from m}^ 
own true husband ! for m}^ good to be drugged until my 
heart and brain are both so softened that 1 have neither 
will nor intellect enough to save me from crime and ruin ! 
For my good to be forced or betrayed into a felonious mar- 
riage with a half idiot ! If you consider these things for 
my good, Mr. Kellogg, you ma}^ go away and forget me ; 
but otherwise, in the name of Heaven and by the love 3^ou 
bore m3" parents, I adjure 3^011, I implore 3-011, intervene to 
save me ! procure me a hearing before the Orphans’ Court,” 
exclaimed Gladys, dropping on her knees and seizing the 
hands of the minister in an agony of supplication. 

“You distress me be3^ond measure, my dear child. These 
are but sickly fancies of yours. A^our guardian is 3^our 
friend. The medicines she gives 3-011 are to soothe your 
mind and heal 3-our bod3". The marriage she proposes for 
3''ou is to repair the wrongs done 3-ou by another. A'our 
mother, your guardian-angel, could do no more for 3^011 
than this excellent aunt is doing. Submit 3"ourself to her,” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 275 


said the old man, trying to raise the unhappy girl to her 
feet. 

“ Oh, Father Almighty ! is there no help in earth or 
heaven !” cried Gladys, sinking down overwhelmed by 
despair. 

“ Sir,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, “ this must be a very painful 
scene to you. And as your presence only serves to excite 
my poor ward, perhaps you had better withdraw and leave 
her with me.” 

“ Gladly, madam. Poor girl ! Poor girl !” 

“ Of one thing I must beg to caution you, sir. It is, not 
to say any thing of tiie mad story told you by this unhappy 
girl ; nor even of the true story related to you in confidence 
by m^^self. In fact, I beg that 3^0 u will not mention any 
thing that has transpired here to-da}^ For it is veiy pain- 
ful to have famil}- afiairs canvassed b}^ the gossips of the 
neighborhood,” said Mrs Llewell3m. 

“ I understand 3'ou, madam, and I will be discreet. Poor 
girl I Poor girl ! I married her grandmother, and I mar- 
ried her mother, and I had nearl3^ married her ! And to 
think it has come to this I” 

And maundering on in this way, the doting old parson 
departed, leaving Glady^s once more in Mrs. Llewellyn’s 
sole power. 


276 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

RELENTLESS PERSECUTION. 

You may as well go stand upon the beach, 

And bid the main flood bate his usual tide ; 

You may as well use question with the wolf, 

■\Vhy he hath made the ewe bleat for her lamb; 

You may as well bid the mountain pines 
To wave their high tops and to make no noise 
“When they are fretted with the gusts of Heaven , 

You may as well do any thing most hard. 

As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) 

“A selfish woman’s heart.” — Shakspeare. 

Gladys was down on the floor, with her arms thrown 
over the seat of 'a chair, her face bowed upon them, and her 
long black hair, escaped from its comb, floating over her 
white dress. She was moaning and weeping piteously. 

The mortified bridegroom was seated on a corner of the 
sofa, leaning back, pulling fretfully at his scanty yellow 
moustache and muttering to himself : 

“ Extraordinaiy !” 

Mrs. Llewellyn was W’alking up and dowm the floor, with 
contracted brows, fixed eyes and compressed lips, in 
moody silence. 

This state of affairs continued for some minutes, when 
at length Mrs. Llewellyn caught sight of the crowd of ser- 
vants still lingering wdth open eyes and ears to see and 
hear all that should be done and said. She strode toward 
them haughtily, saying : 

“ Leave the hall, every one of 3’ou, and go about 3^111* 
business. There is a sp3’’ and traitor among 3^011 ; but I 
will find out who it is, and punish the culprit severel3^” 

The abashed servants all withdrew, except Ailie, wdiom 
keen anxiety for her 3"oung mistress’s safety kept still 
loitering near the door. But Mrs. Llewellyn clapped the 
door in her face and turned the key. 

The affronted bridegroom w^as the next to move and 
speak. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 277 


*‘As I’m not wanted, I had better go, too,” he said, 
rising and yawning and stretching his limbs. 

“ Go where ?” curtly demanded Mrs. Llewellyn, turning 
upon him. 

Out for a ride. To the village. Anywhere.” 

“ I should think you would not care to be seen in public 
after your repulse of to-day,” sneered Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“Ah, indeed I” observed Mr. Stukely. 

“7 should think not.” 

“Well, then, I will go and see the horses and the 
hounds.” 

“You will please to stay where your are, James Stukely. 
I wish to consult with you.” 

“Ah, indeed,” said Mr. Stukely, resuming his seat and 
the occupation of pulling his moustachios. “ Extraordi- 
nary.” 

“ But first help me to lift this helpless bundle of weak- 
ness and folly and carry her to her room.” 

“Better call a servant,” suggested Mr. Stukely. 

“No! Henceforth I shall be the only servant to wait 
on her 

“ Extraordinary 1” 

“ Come ! take one of her arms while I take the other.” 

Between them they lifted Gladys to her feet. But she 
no sooner stood up and met the baleful green eyes of Mrs. 
Llewellyn than some powerful reaction from despair gave 
her strength and she pushed the evil woman violently from 
her, exclaiming : 

“ Devil ! don’t dare to lay a finger on me, lest I fiy at 
you and strangle you with these hands of mine 1 Poisoner ! 
there shall come an awful day of reckoning between us 3 ^et ! 
Felon ! you have broken every law of God and man ! But 
be sure, the retribution will overtake you which shall con- 
sign you to a prison — to the scaffold 1” 

The strength lent by excitement to the feeble is short- 
lived. Almost immediately after this outburst, the tran- 


278 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


sient flush faded from the cheeks of Gladys, the flashing 
fire died out of her eyes, and pale and faint she leaned 
upon the shoulders of Mr. Stukely, breathing rather than 
speaking the words : 

“ James Stukely, help me to my room. You are the 
more honest of the two.’^ 

Mr. Stukely, who had stood Tyth his mouth wide open, 
too astonished to exclaim ‘‘ Extraordinary,’’ obeyed with 
a jump. 

Mrs. Llewellyn opened the door for them to pass 
through and then followed them as they went up stairs. 

“Cousin Gladj’-s,” said Mr. Stukely, “it was not my 
fault. I didn’t know that you didn’t want to marry me. 
I thought all girls wanted to marry.” 

Gladys made no reply. 

“I wouldn’t have married you against your will. I 
wouldn’t marry the Queen of Morocco against her will — 
no, not if she wanted me to ever so.” 

As Gladys made no comment on this contradictory state- 
ment, Mr. Stukely began again : 

“And so you need not have mortified me so before folks 
— leading me on to come before the parson with you, and 
then throwing me oflf and calling me an idiot and such ! I 
think that treatment was — extraordinary.” 

“I did what I did, hoping to expose villainy and to save 
m3.self. I failed in both objects ; and I am sorry if you 
suffered any mortification in the affair,” said Gladys, in a 
faint voice, as, leaning on the arm of the silly youth, and 
holding by the balustrades, she contrived to creep up stairs. 

“ Oh, well, then, we will say no more about it. Only 
don’t bully my mother any more before.me. Cousin Glad}' s ; 
because I shall never know what to do when you bully her. 
If it had been a man that had done so I should have, thrashed 
him, but what can one do in such a case with a lady ? But 
here we are at your door. Shall I take 3"OU in?” 

“ No, thank 3^ou. I can get* on alone now. Good morn- 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 279 

ing,” said Gladys, withdrawing herself from his support 
and passing into her room, where she fell upon her bed in 
the collapse of despair. 

Mrs. Llewellyn slipped swiftly up to the door, withdrew 
the key from the inside, and locked up the room. 

Then she beckoned her son to follow her, and she led him 
back to the drawing-room, the scene of the late commotions. 

The first object that attracted, their attention was the 
torn bridal vail and wreath lying upon the floor. 

James Stukely took them up tenderly and laid tljem, 
w'ith the prayerbook and the bouquet, on the table'^that 
had served as an altar. Mrs. Llewellyn noticed the manner 
in which this was done, and artfully said : 

“ You feel for your cousin’s unhappy condition, my dear 
James 

“Yes ; but I was angry with her for pitching into you 
as she did.” 

“7 was not.” 

“Ah, indeed !” 

“ Certainly not. Where would be the sense of getting 
angry at any thing she should say or do ? We may be 
annoyed, but scarcely offended ; for, in fact, she is not and 
ought not to be held responsible for her words or actions.” 

“Extraordinary.” 

“She is partially deranged, as the minister himself per- 
ceived.” 

“ Yes ; but the minister was inclined to blame us for 
letting a girl that was partially deranged stand up to be 
married.” 

“ That was because the minister was a clerg 3 ^man and 
not a physician. The most experienced phj'^sicians that I 
have consulted have assured me that the madness of our 
poor girl has its origin in hysteria, and that marriage will 
cure her if once she can be persuaded to marry. And you 
must acknowledge, James, that she has had enough to break 
down her nerves and make her hysterical : first, the death 


280 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


of her mother ; then the death of her father ; then her mis- 
placed attachment to that fortune-hunting villain, Arthur 
Powis, ending as it did in an elopement, a false marriage, 
and desertion.” 

“ That’s so.” 

“ This hysteria breaks out unexpectedly, as it has done 
tvvice to-day — first in her capricious rejection of you at the 
last moment; secondly, in her extravagant abuse of me. 
But we must not judge her harshly from these morbid mani- 
festations. We must be patient with her, though she pro- 
vokes us sometimes. And the first thing thrt we do must be 
to remove her far from these scenes that continual^ remind 
her of her sorrows. And then we must wait for a few 
months to elapse ; when, at some distance of place and 
time, the memory of her sorrows will grow fainter, and she 
will turn from the past to the future. She will forget her 
first misplaced love, and be ready to be comforted by a 
second and better based affection. Then you may claim 
her hand, and with it receive the estates of Kader Idris, 
which are worth waiting for.” 

“ Yes; but I will never marry Cousin Gladys without her 
full and free consent, given to me personally. I wont be 
made such a fool of again.” 

“ You shall have her full and free consent, as you call it.” 

“ And then there’s another thing.” 

“ What is that ?” 

“ I must be sure that she was perfectly blameless in that 
matter of the false marriage. I wouldn’t marry a light girl 
if she was forty times my cousin, with forty thousand Ka- 
der Idrises.” 

“ Of course you would not ; nor would I sanction such a 
marriage. But Gladys is blameless of every thing, except 
disobedience. She still believes herself to have been mar- 
ried.” 

“ And then there’s another thing yet.” 

“ What now ?” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 281 


I must be certain sura that other fellow wont turn up.’^ 

‘‘ You may rest assured that he never will.’^ 

“ Then Glad3'’s is as good as a widow?’’ 

“ Yes; you need have no more hesitation in marr^dng her 
than \^ou would in marrying some lovely young widow you 
might fall in love with.” 

“ Then I suppose it is all right, and I have only got to be 
patient.” 

“ Yes. But we must get her away from this place.” 

“ Where can we take her to ?” 

“ I am thinking of taking her to your old forsaken manor- 
house.” 

‘‘ What ! Forest Lodge ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I don’t believe there’s a habitable room in it.” 

“ We could soon make it sufficiently habitable for our 
purpose.” 

“ Extraordinaiy.” 

And I must try to effect the removal before your re- 
turn to college, as I shall require your assistance.” 

“ That’s so.” 

“And now, if you are still desirous of paying a visit to 
your dogs and horses, you may do so,” said Mrs. Llewell^m, 
rising to break up the conference. 

Meanwhile poor Ailie was busily engaged in Gladj^s’ ser- 
vice. 

“ It is no use axing no favors of the ole madam to-day, 
’cause we wont get none. So I just means to give myself a 
holiday and take my foot in my hand and walk to Stand- 
well to see if there’s any letter for my young missus,” said 
Ailie, as she left the drawing-room door after it had been 
slammed in her face. So she hastened away and caught up 
her bonnet and cloak and set out on her walk to Standwell 
before Mrs. Llewellyn had finished her conversation with 
Mr. Stukely. 

The snow was deep on the ground, and no track had been 


282 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 


beaten on the road, so that at every step Ailie’s feet sank 
half a yard down. And this so impeded her progress that 
it was late in the afternoon before she reached the village, 
and then, to her excessive disappointment, the day being a 
high holiday, the post-office was closed. She was told, 
liowever, that it w'ould be opened for an hour in the even- 
ing, and if she should be disposed to wait she might get her 
letters, if there were aii}^ in the office for her. 

Ailie groaned in the spirit, but resolved to w^ait. 

“ T shall run the risk of my life going home in the dark, 
and I shall catch a blowing up when I get there !” she said, 
as she turned her steps in the direction of the house of an 
acquaintance, where she intended to remain until the post- 
office should be opened. 

Her perseverance was rewarded. She received two letters, 
postmarked Washington, and directed to Mrs. Arthur 
Powis. They had been waiting there two days. If they 
had been directed to Miss Llewellyn, they would inevitably 
have been sent to Kader Idris by the regular mail messen- 
ger, and would have fallen into the hands of Mrs. Llev^ellyn. 
But being directed to “ Mrs. Arthur Powis, Post-office, till 
called for,’’ they remained there snugly waiting the demand 
of Ailie. And Ailie, having received them safely, set off 
joy full}" on her return home. 

A little frightened she was at the long, dark, wintiy 
road ; a little troubled also at the reception she expected 
from her mistress ; but her delight in having the letters to 
carry to Gladys overcame all other emotions, and she jog- 
ged merrily on through the snow until she reached Kader 
Idris. It was very late. 

The house was shut up, and the family had gone to bed. 
Of all the servants only Lem stopped up to let the truant 
in. She went around to the kitchen door, where she saw a 
light burning, and rapped. 

Lem opened the door. 

Oh ! wont you catch it neither. Aunt Ailie. The ole 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 283 

madam is mad as hop. She’s been ’quiring for you all over 
the house,” said Lem, grinning. 

“ So I ’speeded. Well, thank goodness gracious alive, 
she can’t kill me I And any thing short of killing I have 
aimed this day. But I say, Lem! can’t you climb up to 
the pantry window, and get through it, and open the front 
door to let me in that way, ’cause I has got two letters for 
Miss Gladys, which I wish to ’liver to her to-night, not 
only to ’lieve her s’pense, but to insure her getting of them ; 
’cause you see, chile, the old madam might ’vent me from 
going up-stairs to-morrow.” 

“ Well, you know it is burglary ; but I’ll do it for Miss 
Gladys, or you either. Aunt Ailie.” 

“ How can it be burglary, when it is Miss Gladys’ own 
house, and you are a-getting into it to ’liver Miss Glad^^s’ 
own letters, you stupid donkey, you I” 

“ Well, I said I’d do it, so you needn’t bully me. Aunt 
Ailie,” grumbled Lem, as he unlocked the pantiy door, of 
which, as butler, he kept the key, and climbed through a 
back window communicating with the dining-room, and so 
entered the front of the house, and opened the hall door to 
admit Ailie. 

Gladys, since entering her chamber that morning, lay 
upon the bed, half stupefied by grief and despair. At the 
regular meal times Mrs. Llewellyn appeared, attended by 
the deaf mute, bringing her meals. But Gladys refused 
food and drink, and declined to speak to or even look at 
her persecutor. 

‘‘It is only a question of time. You will come to your 
appetite sooner or later, my dear,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, as 
she left the' room for the last time that night. 

After the departure of her tormentor Gladys arose, un 
dressed herself and went to bed, and lay there, weeping, 
until a late hour of the night, when she was aroused by the 
sound of a light rapping at her door. 

“ Who is there ?” she demanded. 


284 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Hush ! Miss Gladys ; for the Lords’s sake, honey, don’t 
speak so loud. I am frightened of my life for fear the ole 
madam should be a-prowling about and hear us,” whispered 
the voice of Ailie. 

Gladys arose softly, went to the door, and inquired : 

“ What is it, Ailie ? Why haven’t 3’’ou been up here to 
see me before ?” 

“ Honey, I done been to the post-office ” 

“ Oh ! have you got any letters ?” 

“ Yes, honey — two. I went to the post-office ’mediately 
after the madam slammed the door in my face ” 

“ Oh, Ailie, give me the letters I” 

“ Yes, honey ; but let me tell you all, how and about it, 
first. When I got to the post-office it was shet up ’cause it 
was Christmas, and it wouldn’t be open till evening; so I 
had to wait — which I reckon the ole madam will break my 
neck for staying out so long. Howsoever, I got the letters, 
and that was all I cared about.” 

“Ah, Ailie, Ailie, dear, give them to me I” said Gladys, 
breathlessly. 

“ Yes, honey ; but you must open the door first. How I 
gwine give ’em to you through the shut up door !” 

“Ah, Ailie, the door is locked on the other side I Mrs. 
Jay has made a prisoner of me again !” 

“ What I agin ? Well, if I don’t hope to the Lord as how 
sheHl be made a prisoner in the penitentiaiy for life in this 
world, and in purgatory for all eternity in the next ! And 
that’s all the harm I wish her. Now, how the debbil — 
axing your pardon. Miss Gladys — is I gwine to get these 
letters to j^ou ?” 

“ Ailie, try to slip them under the bottom of the door. I 
think you can do that.” 

“ Why, so I can. There, then ; there they are, honey,” 
said Ailie, easily pushing the thin letters under the door. 

Gladys snatched them up and tore them open. 

Alas I alas ! they contained nothing but disappointment. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 285 

Neither at the Navy Department nor at the navy yard 
had any intelligence been received of Arthur Powis. Both 
letters informed her of this fact, and also that his name had 
been stricken from the navy list. 

Gladys dropped the letters, covered her face with her 
hands, sank back in her chair, and prayed for death. . 

“Any good news, Miss Gladys whispered Ailie, through 
the keyhole. 

“Ah, no, no, no, Ailie I no good news,’’ moaned the mis- 
erable young wife. 

“Oh, don’t break your heart about it so. Miss Gladys I 
The good news will come at last.” 

“ Oh, Ailie, Ailie, this suspense is killing me !” 

“ Try to bear it, honey. You may hear good news to- 
morrow.” 

“ Oh, oh, I fear I shall never hear any more !” groaned 
Gladys. 

“ What do the letters say ?” 

“ Oh, that no intelligence has been received of him, and 
that his name has been stricken from the navy list !” 

“ That is bad — very bad ! But Lord, child, while there’s 
life there’s hope !” 

“ Oh, Ailie, yes — while there is life I But who shall as- 
sure me that there is life for him?” 

“ But if he was dead, honey, his bod3" w’ould have been 
found b}^ this time.” 

“ We do not know that. It might have been sunk in the 
river. Oh, Heaven, Ailie, such a thought is enough to drive 
me mad in earnest !” cried Gladys, in a voice full of an- 
guish. 

“ Don’t let it, honey ! Whatever you do, keep your wits 
about 3^011. And ’skier as he is living until you has better 
reason to think he is dead !” 

“ But if he is living, Ailie, ivhere is he ? what has be- 
come of him ?” 

“ Ma3^be, hone3% a press-gang has taken him away. I 
have hern tell of such things.” 


286 the' BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ There are no press-gangs now, Ailie ! And even if 
there were, they would never impress a naval officer, 3^011 
know.’’ 

“ Well then, honey, I’m dead-stalled ! I can’t make head 
nor tail of his absence ! But I say to you as I said afore — 
don’t break your heart nor lose your wits, if you can help 
it ! You will ’cpiire of a stout heart and a clear head to 
deal long o’ Mrs. Jay. And that I tell you good !” 

“ Oh, Arthur ! Arthur I where in the wide world are you 
this miserable night ? On earth, or in heaven ? Oh, Ar- 
thur ! Arthur ! Hear me ! answer me ! answer me !” cried 
Gladys, wildly yielding to the violence of her grief and 
anxiety. 

‘‘Miss Gladys, don’t go on so, honey! Try to ’troll 
yourself, and don’t give way to crazy thoughts ! don’t now, 
if you know what’s good for you. Marse Arthur can’t 
hear you, nor likewise answer }"Ou, so don’t keep calling 
on him in that wild way, ’cause it will only make 3^011 
worse ! Call on 3"our Heavenly Father, Miss Gladys ; he 
onl3’’ can help you,” said Ailie. 

But the sound of the violent sobbing of the poor young 
wife drowned the voice of the comforter. And so, through 
many hours of the night, Glad3’’S grieved as one without 
hope, while Ailie sought in vain to soothe her. At length, 
toward morning, Gladys cried herself to sleep on her bed 
in her chamber, and Ailie fell into a profound slumber on 
the mat outside the door. And thus both remained until a 
late hour of the morning, when Mrs. Llewell3m, coming out 
of her room, stumbled over the prostrate form of the woman 
curled up on the mat. 

“ What are you doing here, you beast ?” angrily demanded 
the lady, giving the woman a very unlad3Mike kick. 

Ailie, startled out of her sleep, picked herself up and 
stared stupidl3" about her. 

“ What are you doing here,. I ask you ?” sharpl3^ repeated 
Mrs. Llewellyn, giving the woman a push. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. -287 

It struck the truth out of Ailie, who, taken unawares be- 
fore she could make up a lie, answered truly: 

I brought some letters from the post-office for Miss 
Glad3’s, and I got Lem to let me in to give them to her.’’ 

‘‘Very well! I shall settle with you and Lemuel for 
that ! Now take yourself off down stairs, and do not let me 
find 3mu up stairs again at 3m ur peril I” 

Ailie was almost superstitiously afraid of Mrs. Llewmll3m, 
and she obe3md promptly. 

Poor Gladys I from that day she saw no more of her faith- 
ful attendant and only friend. Mrs. Llewell3m, accompa- 
nied by her horrible deaf mute, brought her all her meals ; 
and Mrs. Llewell3m’s confidential maid kept her room in 
order. And Gladys, afraid of being drugged, at first re- 
fused all food and drink ; but she was too 3'oung and healthy 
to starve herself in the sight of food ; the cravings of nature 
w'ere imperative and forced her to eat, even at the risk of 
injury. 

Meanwhile, preparations were commenced for their jour- 
ney. Mrs. Llewell3m spread a report in the neighborhood 
to the effect that she was obliged to remove her ward from 
a scene so fraught with gloom3'’ associations as Kader Idris 
was, and to take her on a tour through the large cities, in 
the hope that total change of scene and society might effect 
a cure of her mental malady. But Mrs. Llewellyn had no 
idea of taking her victim to any city. 

The mansion-house of Kader Idris was shut up. The es- 
tate was put into the hands of a sharp manager. And earl3’’ 
in January, Mrs. Llewellyn, accompanied by her son, James 
Stukely, and her deaf mute Jude, conveyed Gladys, more 
dead than alive, from the old home of her forefathers. 


288 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE OLD HOUSE IN THE WOOD. 

Unhinged the iron gate half open hnng, 

.Tarred by the gusty gales of many winters ; 

That from its crumbled pedestal had flung, 

One marble globe in splinters. 

With shattered panes the grassy court was starred; 

The time-worn copping-stone had tumbled after, 

And through the rugged roof the sky shone, barred 
With naked beam and rafter . — Thomas Hood. 

If you look upon the map of the United States, you wdll 
see a queerly shaped peninsula, lying between the Chesa- 
peake bay and the Atlantic ocean, and comprising the two 
counties of Worcester, in Maryland, and Accomac, in Vir- 
ginia. Nothing but the boundary line between the two 
counties separate the two States. 

It was in Worcester county, in Maryland, on the Chesa- 
peake, that the little* sea-side village, once called Rogues’ 
Harbor, but now bearing another name, w'as situated. 

And it was but a few miles distant across the boundary 
line, in Accomac county, Virginia, that the old dilapidated 
mansion-house that went by the name of Forest Lodge 
was located. It belonged to the impoverished family of 
Brant Stukely, of whom James Stukely w^as now the sole 
representative. This deserted and forgotten dwelling 
stood in the midst of a few acres of neglected ground — a 
ruin in a wilderness. No public road passed near it ; and 
the neighborhood around it was so sparsely settled that 
few human beings ever approached it ; its very existence 
was ignored, or unknown. 

To this desolated home Mrs. Llewellyn, who loved 
luxury, sent first of all some very comfortable furniture. 
She sent this by steamboat, in charge of her deaf mute, 
Jude, wdio landed it on an obscure part of the Virginia 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 289 

shore, and conveyed it thence quietly by wagons to the old 
mansion. 

And a week after this Mrs. Llewellyn herself arrived, 
accompanied by her son, James Stukely, and her confiden- 
tial maid, Ennis, and having in charge the unhappy young 
wife of Arthur Powis. 

It may seem strange and incredible that any young 
married woman should submit to such oppressions and 
outrages as Gladys endured at the hands of Mrs. Llewellyn. 
But — youthful, friendless, inexperienced, separated from 
her husband, bowed down by sorrow, and, further, sub- 
dued by sedative drugs — what could poor Gladys do ? 

It was a dreary December night when they arrived at 
the Forest Lodge. And Gladys entered the doors of the 
old house as hopelessly, as submissively, as ever con- 
demned criminal passed through the gloomy portals of a 
prison. For to her there seemed — “No light in earth or 
heaven.” 

As soon as they were settled in their new home, Mr. 
James Stukely departed for the XJniversity of Virginia, at 
Charlottesville. And life at Forest Lodge subsided into 
the most dreary of all monotonous routines. 

The small establishment consisted only of Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn, her unhappy ward, and the two servants, Ennis and 
Jude. The winter proved a very severe one. Early in 
January a deep snow fell, and a severe frost set in, and 
the roads were blocked up and travel impeded for many 
weeks. Nothing could be drearier than the life to which 
Gladys was condemned. It was rising without hope ; 
eating without appetite; sitting without rest; wandering 
about the gloomy house without interest or amusement ; 
going to bed without comfort, and sleeping without re- 
freshment; and so dull da}^ succeeded dull day witli a 
horrible sameness ; and Gladys was really at length in 
danger of going melancholy mad. Silently the deaf mute 
served the meals in the dining-room ; sullenly the maid- 
18 


290 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

servant performed her duties in the bedrooms ; surlily 
Mrs. Llewellyn and Gladys met and parted at the table or 
the fireside. Not one event worth recording transpired; 
not a conversation worth repeating happer^ed. And thus 
the weeks of the great frost passed slowly away. 

But if Gladys, depressed by monotony, saddened by 
bereavement, and tortured by anxiety, did not go mad, it 
was because she became gradually conscious of a circum- 
stance that filled her heart with a vague delight and in- 
vested her life with a deep interest. In a word, she dis- 
covered that she was destined to become a mother. And 
from the time that she became certain of this fact her 
spirits reviv.ed, her appetite returned, and, despite the 
unpropitious circumstances, she grew almost happy and 
healthy. For Nature is a tender mother and skilful 
nurse, and she W'as doing her best for Glad3^s. 

When, however, Mrs. Llewellyn discovered the condition 
of the young wife, her own evil mind was stricken with dis- 
may. She thought that all her plans were now frustrated* 
She dared no longer tamper with her victim by the admin- 
istration of drugs that under present conditions might 
endanger life. And the life of Gladys was of all things the 
most carefully to be cherished until she should be safely 
married to James Stukely. So the use of the drugs must 
be discontinued. But then, on the other hand, without the 
stupefying agency of the drugs Glade’s could never be in- 
duced to marry J ames Stukely" ; or, even if she could be 
brought to consent, Stukely himself, who, with all his weak- 
ness of intellect, had still some sense of honor, could never, 
under the new circumstances, be persuaded to marry her. 

For several days after making this important discoveiy 
Mrs. Llewell^m was almost in despair. But she was not a 
woman to be overcome by obstacles. She soon arranged 
the plan of her new campaign in her war with destiny. She 
first of all resolved to confine Gladys closely to the premi- 
ses of Forest Lodge, and to carefully cherish her health ; 


THE- BRIBE OF LLEWELLYN. 291 

then to keep Mr. James Stukely at a safe distance, so as to 
conceal from him a state of affairs with which she was deter- 
mined he should never be acquainted ; then, should Gladys 
become the mother of a living child, to conceal the fact and 
make away with the babe as best she could ; and then to re- 
commence drugging her victim until she should become 
stupefied and embruted to a state low enough to admit of 
her being fooled into a marriage with James Stukely. It 
was a base plot ; but what will not a wicked woman do 
when instigated by avarice, the basest of passions ? 

Mrs. Llewellyn carried out nearly all her plans. She 
■wrote to her son, telling him that he must not come home 
at Easter, because Gladys was still very nervous and ex- 
citable, and that the presence of a visitor would disturb 
her and injure her health. She abandoned the use of drugs 
upon her patient, and was in all external observances as 
kind to the poor young creature as it was possible to be. 

But Gladys was not again to be deceived by Mrs. Llewel- 
lyn. She estimated her new kindness at its real value and 
thanked her in proportion. The health and spirits of the 
young wife, however, continued to improve. She dreamed 
of her coming baby and hoped for her absent husband. 

And thus the latest winter days passed away and the 
spring opened. Gladys amused herself by making pretty 
little caps and dresses for the expected little stranger. 
And Mrs. Llewellyn quietly informed herself respecting 
the physicians of the country, one of whom it might be- 
come necessary to call in, in emergency. By means of 
Jude, the deaf mute, she was made acquainted with the 
fact that a certain doctor, a very skilful physician from 
New York, had recently settled at a place called Hogues’ 
Harbor, a few miles distant across the line and on the 
Chesapeake Bay. Hogues’ Harbor was in Maryland, and 
that Mrs. Llewellyn thought an advantage where secresy 
was to be desired. So she resolved, in the event that 
medical aid should be needed, to call in Doctor W. and fee 
him liberally and swear him to secresy. 


292 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


It was in the midst of a midnight tempest of thunder, 
lightning and rain that the child of Gladys Powis was 
born. The young mother had been very ill ; and it was 
only in the latest hour, when her life was in the greatest 
danger, that the deaf mute was sent through “ night and 
storm and darkness” to bring the doctor to her assistance. 
Doctor W. arrived in good time. To his superior skill and 
experience alone under Divine Providence the mother and 
child owed the preservation of their lives. 

Doctor W. divined the character of Mrs. Llewelljm and 
detected her designs upon the life of the babe ; and he was 
earnestly entreated by the alarmed and unhappy mother to 
take charge of her child ; and tenderly he carried the 
little creature home and committed it to the care of his 
wife. 

When, two or three days had passed, and Gladys had 
become impatient for a visit from her kind physician and 
anxious for news of her absent child, she forced herself to 
do that which was of all things the most repugnant to her 
— namely, to question Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ Why does not the doctor come and see me ?” she 
inquired. 

“ He was here this morning w'hile you were asleep. He 
came up and looked at you ; but would not allow you to be 
w^aked up, as he said that sleep would do you more good 
than any thing else. He left you very soon as he had a 
patient in extremity to visit,” replied Mrs. Llewellyn, lying 
without an instant’s hesitation. 

‘‘ Did he say how my baby was ?” 

“ Yes ; it is thriving well. He has procured a healthy 
wet-nurse for the imp.” 

‘‘ I am very glad !” said the young mother — “ Or I 
should be, if I could place confidence in what you tell me, 
Mrs. Jay,” she mentally added. 

But the next day and the day after that passed, and 
Gladys grew more and more impatient to see the doctor 
and hear from her child. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 293 

‘‘Why does not Doctor — Doctor— I forget his name, or 
rather I believe I never knew it. Why does he not come 
to see me she asked on the fourth day. 

“ He was here again this morning while you were asleep. 
It seems he cannot come at any other hour, but he looked 
at you and would not permit you to be awakened.” 

“ Oh, dear me, how provoking I . Did he speak of my 
child ?” 

“ Yes ; he said it was growing finely.” 

“ Thank Heaven 1 But now, when he comes next, if I 
should be asleep, I wish to be waked up, so that I may ask 
him about my child, and hear from his owm lips how she is.” 

“ My dear, he says that he shall not come again ; that you 
are getting along so well as to render his further attendance 
unnecessary.” 

“ How aggravating that is I Well, I must write to him 
and ask him to tell me all about my child — where she is, 
and who has got her ; and what sort of a house she lives in, 
and what sort of a woman the nurse is ; and if there are 
any other children; and a number of particulars that I 
must be made acquainted with,” said the young mother, 
firmly. 

“ Well, my dear, you shall write at once,” replied the art- 
ful woman, who immediately propped Gladys up in the bed, 
and placed a writing-case before her. 

“Stay — what is that doctor’s name? — Doctor — Doc- 
tor ” 

“ Doctor Thomas Frorthingham, my dear.” 

Gladys wrote her letter, filled it with- the anxious ques- 
tionings of an earnest young mother, folded and sealed it, 
and then, panting, directed and gave it into the hands of 
Mrs. Llewellyn, to send to the nearest post-office, saying to 
herself, with a sigh : 

“ I have no alternative but to trust her, since I have no 
one else to trust. Oh, I hope she will be honest about this 
letter, especially as there seems to be no inducement for 
her to be otherwise.” 


294 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

The next evening Gladys received the forged answer. 
And this was it : 

My Dear Lady : — Your note was placed in my hands at 
the very moment that I had sat down to write to you, to 
communicate a sorrowful piece of intelligence, which gives 
me as much pain to write as it will give you to read. Your 
little babe is no more. It was suddenly seized with con- 
vulsions this morning, which, in the course of a few hours, 
notwithstanding that the utmost skill of medical science 
was exerted to save it, proved fatal. We attribute its sud- 
den illness and death to some original organic imperfection ; 
though whether the brain, the lungs, or the heart was the 
most deficient in vital power, nothing short of an actual 
autopsy could demonstrate. Let me hope that as a Chris- 
tian woman, you will resign yourself to the will of Divine 
Providence, and not sorrow “ as one without hope” after a 
little creature, whose early death has saved it from all the 
temptations, sins and dangers of this world, and ensured to 
it the purity, bliss and safety of heaven. 

I have the honor to be, dear lady, 

Your obedient servant, 

Thomas Frorthingham, M. D. 

Gladys dropped the letter, sank back on her j^illow, and 
covered her face with her hands. And soon the tears were 
seen trickling slowly between her fingers. 

Mrs. Llewellyn picked up the letter to read it. 

- Gladys made no outcry over the death of the babe that 
she now believed had only been lent her for a few days. 
After some moments given to silent weeping, she merely 
looked up and patiently inquired : 

“ Do you think my baby suffered much ?” 

“ Oh, no, my dear ; such little creatures never do. One 
half of suffering is in the mind, you know. And such have 
none to speak of.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 295 


But — they cry.” 

“ That is to expand their lungs ; nothing else. They are 
never conscious of suffering.” 

“ I suppose the Lord is too good to let them, then ?” 

‘‘ Yes.” 

There was silence for a few moments, and then Gladys 
inquired : 

“ Do you think they have buried my baby ?” 

“ Oh, no, my dear ; they would not venture to do it with- 
out letting us know.” 

“ Oh, then, I will go and see it myself.” 

“ My love, that will never do ! You are not strong 
enough to rise from your bed I How could you ever under- 
take a journey of ten miles over one of the worst roads 
that ever was seen ?” 

“ Oh, but it seems so cruel I so cruel, not to go !” 

“My dear, *^7 will go and see that every thing is done 
decently and in order. And when you are quite well, you 
shall go and see the little grave.” 

With a low, half-suppressed sob, the bereaved jmung 
mother sank back again upon her pillow, covered her eyes 
and wept silently. She had neither the strength of mind 
or of body any longer to oppose Mrs. Llewellyn. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

STARTLING APPARITION. 

The marshal and myself had cast 
To stop him as he outward past, 

But lighter than the whirlwind’s blast 
He vanished from our eyes, 

Like sunbeam on the billow fast 

That glances but and dies. — Scott. 


When Mrs. Llewellyn departed so suddenly from For- 
est Lodge, she took her unhappy victim directly to Xew 


296 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 

York in the hope that the wilderness of the city would 
afford a more secure hiding-place than the wilderness of the 
woods had done. 

She took a furnished house in one of the most crowded 
streets in central Gotham. And there she secluded her 
ward in a solitude even more retired than that of Forest 
Lodge, or of Kader Idris had been. 

Here Gladys was consigned to a front chamber on the 
fourth floor, away up near the top of the house. And as 
the lower sashes of the windows were guarded like those of 
a child’s nursery, she could not put her head out, or look 
down into the street below. She could only glance through 
the upper sashes, at the sky above, or at the tops of the 
houses over the way. 

But yet Gladys did not seem to miss her liberty, or even 
wish for a more extended prospect. By the continual ad- 
ministration of powerful sedatives she had been reduced to 
a state of physical and mental feebleness resembling second 
childhood. 

The room to which she was restricted was, however, fur- 
nished with every thing that could contribute to the com- 
fort and amusement of a child and an imbecile. In the first 
place, it was of ample size, well ventilated, and connected 
with a spacious dressing closet. 

Next, in addition to the usual set of sumptuous chamber 
furniture, it was j^rovided with a fine piano-forte, a harp, a 
guita.r, and even an accordeon. The walls were decorated 
with bright pictures, and the mantel-shelf was adorned with 
Dresden china images of beaux and belles, and shepherds 
and shepherdesses. 

But beside these there was one toy which seemed a bitter 
mockery of the poor bereaved young mother. This was a 
large, lifed-sized wax-doll baby — one of those productions 
of French mechanical art that, “ by some devilish cantrip 
strange,” was made to shut its eyes when laid down, open 
them when raised up, and to utter a low cry when squeezed. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


297 


This doll was dressed in every particular as a young living 
infant, and laid in a pretty “ berceaunette,’’ or decorated 
basket cradle. 

And although poor Gladys had still reason enough left to 
know that this doll was not her own living child, yet she 
was so strangely silly as to lavish upon it a wealth of ten- 
derness and care, as if she imagined that it could benefit 
by her attention, or suffer by her neglect. 

Every morning she dressed it in fine clothes, and sent it 
out by Ennis for an airing. And every night she undressed 
it, pressed it to her comfortless bosom, and spent hours in 
rocking it in a low nursing-chair and singing to it a soft 
lullaby. 

By this time, too, she had been persuaded to believe in 
her husband’s death, and had been familiarized with, if not 
reconciled to, the idea of her marriage with James Stukely. 
For on one occasion, when Ennis, who had begun to pity 
and to love her wronged and helpless charge, said to her : 

Oh, Miss Gladys, how can you kiss and hug an unsen- 
sible wax doll as if it was a Christian baby, and could love 
you for your care ?” — the poor young mother answered 
with the ringing laughter of her earlier girlhood : 

“ Why, Ennis, if I am to have a wooden head for a hus- 
band, why not a wax head for a baby ? It is all right, my 
good Ennis, believe me.” 

Next to the occupation she found in the care of her 
“ baby,” she derived her greatest solace from music. She 
often sang her favorite songs, accompan3dng herself on the 
piano-forte, harp or guitar, as the case required. And 
often the passengers of the street below would pause to 
listen to the sublime strains of divine harmony, that seemed 
the echo of the angels’ anthems in heaven, or to the simple 
trills of delicious melody that seemed showered down from 
the gladness of some song-bird soaring high in the empy- 
rean. 

The statel}^ old-fashioned mansion on the opposite side 


298 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

of the way was owned and inhabited by a wealthy maiden 
lady somewhat passed her youth, Miss Wendover. And 
often she threw open her own windows, and sat within the 
soft shadows of their lace curtains listening to the plaintive 
voice of the invisible singer — “the caged bird,” as some 
peoj^le called her from her barred windows, and beautiful 
voice — the “mad lady,” as others less poetical suspected 
and asserted her to be. 

But among all — neighbors or passengers — who listened 
to her music, there was not one who seemed so much spell- 
bound by her voice as a poor workman who was engaged 
with many others in building a large hotel on the same 
street, and who passed under her windows about four times 
every day on his way to his work and to his meals. Many 
were the half days’ wages this poor fellow was docked of 
for wasting his employer’s time in listening to the invisible, 
sweet singer ; for no matter whether he was on his way to 
work, or to meat, or how great the pressure of business or 
of hunger might be, the sound of her voice was enough to 
arrest his hurrying footsteps and to keep him standing 
before the house, gaping and staring up into her windows. 

On one of these occasions, Mrs. Llewellyn, sitting at her 
drawing-room windows, within the shadow of the crimson 
curtains, unseen herself, but seeing everything that passed, 
noticed this strange, music-mad laborer, standing on the 
sidewalk with the hod on his shoulder, gazing up toward 
her captive’s windows. 

Something in his air attracted her attention and fixed 
her regards scrutinizingly upon his figure ; but when he 
raised his old hat from his head, and turned his face a 
little more toward the light, she uttered a low cry, and 
sank back in her seat, pale and faint. 

A minute after she reached out her hand and touched 
the bell that brought her maid to her presence. 

“ Ennis, come here. Stand just here behind the curtain, 
and look at that man,” she said. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 299 


Yes, madam. Which man 

“ The one in the fustian blouse, with the hod on his 
shoulders, who is standing by the curbstone, looking up at 
the house. Do you see him 

“ Yes, ma’am.^’ 

“Ennis, of whom does he remind you?” 

“ Lord bless us and save us, ma’am !” exclaimed the girl, 
shrinking back in dismay. 

“ Look again. Of whom does he remind you, I say ?” 

“ Heaven between us and harm !” 

“ Ennis, I ask you who that man looks like, and I’ll 
trouble you to answer me.” 

“ Gracious goodness me alive ! I beg your pardon, 
ma’am, but — he looks like the ghost of Master Arthur !” 

“Ghost — stuff! But you are right; the likeness is a 
very striking one. Ennis, go around to the alley-gate and 
watch that man. When he leaves the spot slip after him 
and follow him ; find out his name, and occupation, and 
place of abode ; and come back and tell me.” 

“ Yes, madam, if — if I can,” said the girl, obediently, 
leaving the room. 

“ Strange — strange I I never saw such a likeness — no, 
never in my life. At first I thought that it was the crea- 
tion of mj^ own imagination ; that, like the weak Macbeth, 
I was growing brain-sick, and seeing ‘ air-drawn’ daggers, 
and gibbering ghosts 1 But Ennis saw it, too ; and Ennis 
has no more imagination than a pig. And the way in 
wliich he listened to her songs and stared up at her win- 
dows ! Strange, and passing strange ! Can that despe- 
rate fool have played me false ? Can Arthur Powis be liv- 
ing ? But no, no, no ; I am mad to think it. For if he 
were living, he would not leave his wife in my hands for a 
single hour,” murmured Mrs. Llewellyn, as she paced un- 
easily up and down her sumptuous drawing-room. 

At length she stole up to the window again, and peeped 
through the blinds. 


300 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Yes, there he stood, gazing entranced up at the windows 
of Gladys, and listening, although her singing had ceased. 
His face was very pale, his cheeks hollow, his eyes sunken, 
and his forehead was drawn into a deep, dark furrow be- 
tween the eyebrows, as by intense suffering or profound 
thought. 

While Mrs. Llewellyn gazed, he suddenly started as if 
from a dream, sighed, shook his head, shifted his hod upon 
the other shoulder, and dropping his chin upon his breast 
with an air of dejection, walked on. 

Ennis came out of her hiding-place and dogged his foot- 
steps. 

Mrs. Llewellyn went away from the window and recom- 
menced her troubled walk up and down the room. And so 
she continued to pace the floor for nearly an hour, and until 
the return of Ennis. 

‘‘Well, girl?” she then demanded, throwing herself into 
a chair. 

“ Well, ma’am, he is a poor, simple, innocent fellow. His 
name is Billy Simmons, and he is a stonemason’s laborer, 
at work on Miss Wendover’s great hotel at the corner of 
the street,” said Ennis, catching her breath. 

“ Miss — who ?” 

“ Miss Wendover — the rich old maid, ma’am, as lives in 
the great house opposite of us. She is just been investing 
of a sight of money in building of a new hotel on the Euro- 
peong plan ” 

“ You exasperating blockhead, what do you suppose I 
care for Miss Wendover and her investments ? Tell me 
about that strange man.” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; I did tell you. I followed him all the 
way to the hotel, where the men were all at work; and I 
heard the foreman say to him, ‘ You’re behind time again, 
Billy; mind, I shall dock you a quarter of a day’s wages.’ 
And the man said, ‘All right, sir.’ And he went to fill his 
hod with mortar. And then, ma’am, I went up to the fore- 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


801 


man and said, says I ; ‘ Who is that fellow, sir, as has been 
annoying of us by standing before the house a-staring up 
into our front windows V And says the foreman, says he : 
‘ Oh, you mustn’t mind any thing he does ; he is a poor, 
half-witted creature, who means no harm, and hasn’t an 
klea be3mnd carrying of a hod. But I’ll look after him, 
and prevent him from troubling you again.’ Then, ‘What 
is his name, sir ?’ I asked. ‘ Oh — Billy Simmons ; he’s 
soft, you know, my girl ; you must not mind him. But, 
any way, he shall not trouble you again.’ And then, ma’am, 
I thanked the foreman and came aw^ay.” 

“ Yery well. You have done very well, indeed, Ennis. 
Now, I wish you to watch until that man goes by again 
in returning from his work, and I wish you to watch him 
home, and find out where he lives.” 

“ Yery well, ma’am.” 

“And Ennis ” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ You may take that black silk dress of mine, with the 
bugle trimmings, and make it over for yourself.” 

“ Thank you very much, indeed, ma’am.” 

“You may go now.” 

Ennis courtesied and left the room. 

That evening, when Ennis was missed, her mistress only 
knew where she was gone. At six o’clock, when she saw 
the builders going home from their work, she sat herself 
to watch at the alley gate for the strange workman to pass. 

Mrs. Llewellyn also placed herself on the watch behind 
the front window-curtains. 

Presently, lingering behind all the rest, came the man 
she looked for. He jDaused in front of the house, looked 
up at the upper windows, slowly shook his head, and 
passed on. Ennis came out and followed him. 

Two hours passed before Ennis returned. She found 
her mistress still in the drawing-room waiting for her. 

“ Well, Ennis, have you run your man to earth?” 


302 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Yes, ma’am ; and a fine chase I had. Pie lives aTray up 
on Catherine street at an old vrashwoman’s. I followed 
him all the way.- At one time I feared as he would get 
into a ’bus ; but I made up my mind if he did I would also ; 
but he didn’t, and I followed him all the wa}^ to Catherine 
street on foot. And when I saw him go in at a house 
where there was a laundress sign a-hanging out, I made so 
free as to go in on pretence of wanting some washing done. 
And while I was talking to the laundress — which she was 
quite a ole ’oman — she says, says she, to the man — ‘ Billy, 
your supper’s on the kitchen-table. Go eat it.’ And the 
man says, says he — ‘All right, ma’am,’ and he goes. ‘Is 
that handsome young man your son, ma’am ?’ says I. 

‘ Who ! Billy ? Law, no,’ says she ; ‘ but I thinks as much 
on him as if he was. He’s a boarder, he is.’ ‘And how 
long have you known him, ma’am ?’ sa3's I. ‘A many 
months,’ says she. ‘ But what makes you ax questions. Is 
you in love with our Bill}-", 3^oung ’oman ?’ ‘ No, I thank 

you, ma’am,’ says I. ‘And as we can’t agree about the 
price of the washing, I think I had better go away.’ And 
so I come away and got on to a omnibus, and here I am, 
ma’am.” 

“You have done extremely well. So it seems that we 
have been deceived by one of those strange likenesses we 
sometimes see in this world. I had a faint hope that this 
singular man might chance to be the long missing Arthur 
Powis. It has proved otherwise. Let the w'hole affair be 
forgotten,” she said, h^^pocritically. 

When Ennis left the presence of her mistress it was to 
go immediately up stairs to the room of her charge. 

She found the wife of Arthur Powis, with the wax doll 
baby pressed to her bosom, pacing the floor and singing in 
a touching voice the lullaby chorus of “Allan Percy’s child.” 

“ You sta3^ed away so long, Ennis, that I undressed the 
baby without your help. You may go away noTv, and if I 
want you I can ring,” said poor Gladys. And then she re- 
commenced her pathetic refrain, “ Lullab^q lul-la-by-e ” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


803 


“ Well, this is enough to break one’s heart,” muttered 
Ennis to herself as she left the room. “ But, after all, four- 
teen dollars a month and all the left off silk gowns and 
shawls is a great consolation !” 

Mrs. Llewellyn, for her own part, as soon as she found 
herself alone, struck the bell that brought the deaf mute to 
her presence. 

“ I have been waiting for you all the afternoon' and even- 
ing. Where have j'-ou been ?” was the question she rapidly 
spelled upon her fingers. 

He answered by the same means : 

“ Madam, you remember you gave me half a holiday. I 
took it and went to Harlem.” 

“ I had forgotten. Now attend ” 

The mute nodded. 

“ Is Arthur Powis dead ?” 

The mute nodded. 

“ Are you sure ?” 

He raised his fingers and spelt the word : 

“Sure.” 

“ I wish that I could feel sure.” 

“ When I killed the young lion I brought you his skin in 
proof of his death,” answered the mute, slowly spelling 
the words on his fingers. 

“You brought me the crushed cap and the blood-stained 
uniform of the lieutenant ; constructive proof, but not con- 
clusive proof, of his death.” 

“ How could I have got the clothes off his living body?” 

“You might have stunned him and he might afterward 
have recovered.” 

“If he had recovered, would he not have raised the 
larm ? would he not have returned to his wife ?” 

“ One would think so ; but — his body was never found. 
That in itself is strange.” 

“ His body sank at once to the bottom of the Anacostia 
river. The fishes have eaten his body, and the gluttons 


304 


THE BRIDE OF L L E W E L L Y H . 


have eaten the fishes. By and by worms will have eaten 
the gluttons.” 

‘'You horrible creature, stop that! I suppose the lieu- 
tenant is really dead. But there is an individual in this 
city who so strongly resembles Arthur Powis that the cir- 
cumstance gives me much uneasiness. Have you ever 
chanced to see such a person?” 

The mute slowl}^ and emphatically shook his head. 

“ He is a laborer, at work on the new hotel at the corner. 
He carries a hod, and passes here three or four times a day. 
Watch for him.” 

The mute nodded his head low in token of obedience. 

“ Yow go ; I have letters to write.” * . 

Jude bowed very humbly and withdrew. 

“ I feel half the time as if that fellow was deceiving me 
and was ready at an instant’s provocation to betray me. 
Yet I must not allow him to suspect that I either doubt or 
fear him. Ah I what a world this is, wdiere one cannot even 
trust — their confidantes. And then this extraordinary 
likeness this strange man bears to Arthur Powis. Yet it 
is only an accidental resemblance of course. It could be 
nothing else. It would be absurd, preposterous, insane, 
to believe that Arthur Powis lives and that this man is he,” 
said Mrs. Llewellyn to herself. But though she said this 
over and over again, she could not at once conjure to rest 
the anxiety that troubled her heart. 

At length she drew her writing-desk near her, opened it, 
and commenced the following letter to her promising son, 
who was still at the University of Virginia : 

New York, October — , 18 — . 

My dearest James: — The year that you stipulated 
should elapse between the death of Arthur Powis and your 
marriage with his young widow, has now passed. Arthur 
Powis has now been dead rather more than twelve months ; 
and Gladys has got over her grief and left off her weeds. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 305 

She loves you, my sou. She always loved you, and you 
might have married her two years ago, only 3^011 were so 
backward in courting her. Three months ago she begged 
me for a lock of 3"our hair. I gave it to her. And she has 
worn it ever since in her bosom, next her heart. You 
would doubt this fact if it were told you by any other per- 
son except your own mother. But you will believe it when 
it is told you b3^ me, who never in my life, under any cir- 
cumstances, varied from the strict line of truth. Now that 
I have assured you of all these facts, so that you must feel 
convinced that you have won the guileless heart of your 
3"oung cousin, I hope you will see that every principle of 
honor requires you to c^me immediately to New York and 
make her your wife. I will take care to have every thing 
in readiness for the wedding, so that it may take place on 
the day after your arrival. Your atfectionate mother, 

Jane J. Llewellyn. 

James Stukely, Esq. 

Having sealed and despatched this letter to the post, 
Mrs. Llewell3m retired to rest^and slept the sleep of the 
righteous, undisturbed by the memory of crime, the stings 
' of remorse, or the fear of detection. The day of retribu- 
tion for her had not yet arrived. 


CHAPTER XXYII. 

THE CAPTIVE MOTHER. 

And I’ll deem thee Allan Percy’s son, 

Lullaby — Lullaby . — Anon. 

Several days passed ; but although a strict watch was 
kept by Mrs. Llewellyn and her maid and man, no more 
was seen of the mysterious workman. And, strangely 
19 


306 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

enough, his absence began to give Mrs. Llewellyn more 
uneasiness than his presence had done. Where could the 
missins: man be ? What could he be about ? None but a 
guilty mind would have troubled itself to ask these ques- 
tions, because of a supposed resemblance between the living 
and the dead. 

At length, when several days had passed away, she sum- 
moned to her presence her confidential maid ; who, by the 
way, was only half in her confidence. 

“ Ennis, as nearly a w'eek has passed since we have seen 
that strange hod-carrier, I begin to fear that something may 
have happened to the poor creature. He may be ill and 
suffering want ; or he may be dead.,. I wish you would go 
up to the building and inquire about him,’’ she said, hypo- 
critically. 

Ennis, not in the least degree deceived by her mistress’s 
pretension to a benevolent interest in the poor workman, 
courtesied and left the room, to go on the errand. 

When she reached the half-finished hotel, and inquired 
of the master-mason for the missing laborer, the man broke 
out into a good-humored laugh, as he exclaimed : 

“ I say, young woman, this is the second time this week 
that you have been here inquiring about Bill^^ I The first 
time you wanted to know who he was ; and 3’ou complained 
about his staring up at your windows. Now I suspect it 
was you he was staring at, and that 3^011 were not half as 
much offended about it as 3'Ou pretended to be ! For now 
you miss him, you. come asking where he is ? Now, m3" dear, 
what is Billy to 3"ou, or you to Billy? Have 3"ou fallen in 
love with the handsome fellow, eh, my girl, that 3^ou run 
after him so ?” 

“ I thank 3"Ou, sir,” said Ennis, tossing her head. ‘‘ I’m 
a respectable young lady of color, and don’t demean m3"- 
self with running after white men ; or colored men either, 
for that matter. I come here by the orders of m3' missus, 
to ask after a poor, friendless workman, as she is afraid he 
may be sick and suffering.” 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 307 

“ Very well, then, my respectable j^oiing lady of color, 
you may tell your missus that I have not seen a sight of 
Billy since last Saturday evening, when he was paid off. I 
have been expecting him to return eveiy day this week ; 
but you see, he hasn’t made his appearance. And, more- 
over, I don’t know where he lodges, and don’t know where 
to send for him.” 

With this answer, Ennis returned to her mistress. 

“ It is wonderful, wonderful, how the thought of that 
strange man worries me. lie is a nightmare ! — a man of a 
dream ! And he received his week’s pay, and then disap- 
peared. Where has he gone? What is he about? Mis- 
chief? Stuff! I believe I am going mad! What is he to 
me, that I should torment myseif about him ?” thought 
Mrs. Llewellyn, as she ruminated over the news that Ennis 
had brought her. In a few minutes she spoke aloud: 

“ Ennis !” 

“ Madam ?” ^ 

“Go to the man’s lodgings, and inquire what has become 
of him.” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; but ” 

“ Well ?” 

“I beg your pardon, madam, but does it look well for a 
young woman to be going about asking after a oung man ?” 

“ It looks well for a young woman to obey her mistress’s 
orders promptly and without question,” said Mrs. Llewel- 
lyn, severely. 

Ennis raised just the suspicion of a pout as she turned to 
leave the room, wLich happily her mistress did not see as 
she called her back. 

“ Ennis !” 

“ Yes, madam ?” 

“ Unless you are a fool, you need not compromise your- 
self in any wmy. The man’s landlady is a laundress, I be- 
lieve. 'Well, go to her again, on pretence of getting her to 
wash for you ; and use your eyes and your tact, and you 


808 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


may find out all I wish to know about the man, without 
once asking a question.’’ 

“ I’ll try, ma’am,” replied the girl, as she left the room. 

Ennis took an omnibus and went directly to Catherine 
street, and to the house of the laundress. She found Mrs. 
Slosh in the suds and in the sulks. 

“I have come about the washing again, ma’am,” said 
Ennis, dropping, uninvited, into the nearest seat ; and 
I want to know how much a dozen you will ” 

“ I wont do it for any thing a dozen, there ! I have 
more to do now than I can turn my hands to I” snapped 
the laundress, giving the wet shirt in her hands a vicious 
wring that cracked half the stitches in “ sleeve, gusset, and 
band.” 

Thus, slapped in the mouth, as it were, by this reply, 
Ennis remained silent for a little while, and cautiously 
looked around the room for some sign of the workman ; but 
saw nothing, not a hat, coat, shoe, or any other article of a 
gentleman’s belonging.” 

“ I has more work to do, and gets less pay for it, nor 
any nigger slave in the whole earth!” said the woman, 
slapping the shirt down on a pile of wrung-out clothes, and 
dashing into the tub after another garment. 

“ Bat we would pay you well,’’' suggested Ennis. 

“ Don’t know whether you would or not ! and don’t care, 
nyther. Shant take no more washing from nobody I I 
wish, I does, as the ladies and gemmen had to wash their- 
selves, and then may be thej^’d be more reasonable !” ex- 
claimed the laundress, savagely wringing a skirt until the 
strings broke. 

“ Have you got the toothache, ma’am ?” mischievously 
inquired Ennis. 

“No! it’s the earache, ’’’’ snapped the woman, dashing 
both arms into the water, as if she would have raised a 
tempest in a tub. 

“ I am very sorry your ear aches,” said Ennis. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 809 


“ If you are, then why don^t you stop talking ? My ears 
wouldn’t ache if it wa’n’t for your tongue — always a-bor- 
ing — ^boring — boring — into ’em, like a gimlet ! What are 
you waiting for, any way?” sharply demanded the shrew, 
stopping in her work, to stare Ennis out of countenance. 

That, however, was not so easily to be done. Ennis re- 
turned her broad stare with a look of modest assurance, 
and answered: 

“ I am waiting to rest a little while, if you have no objec- 
tion, and then I will go away.” 

The laundress returned fiercely to her washing and 
worked away as if she was bent on the annihilation of 
every thing under her hands. 

In the present humor of her hostess, Ennis could not 
venture to make any inquiries about her boarder. So she 
sat on in silence waiting for a favorable opening, and hop- 
ing for the possible arrival of the workman. 

At length the laundress, lifting the tub of dirty suds in 
both hands and looking as though upon a very slight 
provocation, she would douche the whole over Ennis’s nice 
new bonnet and black silk dress (the very one that her 
mistress had recently bestowed on her), demanded curtly : 

“ Well ! are you there yet? Aint you rested by this time?” 

“ Thank you, yes ; I will go now,” said Ennis rising. 

I think it’s about time to go.” 

Ennis felt as if it was “ about time” to perform her errand, 
if she was to do so at all, so she risked the question : 

“ Does that young man board with you yet ?” 

‘‘ That wJiichV^ asked the laundress, jerking the question 
out. 

The young laboring-man ; does he board with you yet ?” 

“ There I I knowed as you’d come arter no good I run- 
ning arter men I You ought to be ashamed o’ yourself. 
Go ’way.” 

“ My missus sent me,” replied Ennis, indignantly. 

'‘A likely story, indeed I Go ’way, I tell you.” 


310 .THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

My missus did send me ! She missed the poor young 
fellow and thought he might be ill and in want, and sent me 
to inquire after him.” 

‘‘ I don’t believe you ! and I don’t believe as you’ve got 
any missus; and I don’t believe she sent you; and I don’t 
believe as you are any better’n you ought to be !” 

“ Few of us are!” laughed Ennis. 

“7 am, if you please. Miss Imperence, so none of your 
insiniwations. Go ’way I” exclaimed the exasperated laun- 
dress. 

“ Tell me first if the young man still boards here and why 
he hasn’t been to work?” 

“ I shan’t tell you nothing at all about it! What’s that 
to you ? Go ’way !” cried the woman, advancing threaten- 
ingly upon Ennis with the tub of soapsuds. 

The girl made a precipitate retreat, and finding it utterly 
useless to pursue her investigations further, got into the 
omnibus and returned home. 

Ennis knew perfectly well that if she made a true report 
of her visit, her mistress would blame her for her want of 
success, so she told falsehoods instead. 

I went to Mrs. Slosh’s, ma’am ; but he has left there 
ever since Saturday night ; and she doesn’t know where he 
has gone” — was the story she told. 

“ He is in mischief, somewhere ! But — nonsense, how 
can his mischief afiect me ? That man’s resemblance to 
the de*d man, certainly unsettles my judgment ! I must 
try to forget the whole matter,” said the lady to herself. 

At that moment a letter was brought in by Jude and 
placed in her. hands. 

“You may both leave me,” she said, addressing her 
maid and man who still lingered as if waiting her com- 
mands. 

When they had retired she opened her letter. It was 
from her son in reply to her own, in which she had sum- 
moned him to New York. Mr. Stukely informed his 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 311 

mother that he should follow his letter so quickly as to 
arrive a very few days after it. 

Mrs. Llewellyn immediately left the room to set on foot 
preparations for his reception. 

Then she went up stairs to see Gladys. She found that 
poor victim of slow poison, sitting in the low rocking-chair, 
with her wax baby pressed to her heart, rocking it slowly 
to and fro, and crooning to it the refrain of “ Allan Percy’s 
child.” Her face was pale as death, and her dark hair 
iioated loose and long over her white wrapper. 

“ Lullaby — lul-la-b-y-e,” she sang. 

“You may stop that song now, Glad^^s. Allan Percy is 
coming,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, speaking to her in the sooth- 
ing manner she would have used toward an ailing child. 

“ Ay ? Is Allan Percy coming ? I thought he was only 
in the song ?” said Gladys, archl}^ ; but still with the ques- 
tionable archness of a child or an imbecile. 

“ Your Allan is coming at any rate.” 

“ My Allan is in the grave, where I his widow soon shall 
be,” said Gladys with a sudden change of manner. 

“ Nonsense, you are too young to die ! There are other 
Allans left in the world.” 

“ Yes, ‘ as good fish in the sea as ever was caught out of 
it,’ aint there ?” she demanded with another fitful change. 

“Why, certainly! There is your cousin James Stukely. 
He will soon be here. You will treat him better when he 
comes this time than you did the last time, will you not ?” 

“ What last time ?” asked Gladys. 

“ Good Heaven ! Is her memory actually failing ?” 
thought Mrs. Llewellyn, in dismay. Then speaking aloud, 
she said : 

“ Never mind what time ; you will treat him well now, 
will you not ?” 

“ Oh yes ! what do I care I” 

“ And you will marry him ?” 

' Oh yes I of course I” 


812 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ ‘ Life is all a wariorum, 

And I care not hoio it goes !’ ” 

said Gladys breaking out into the chorus of a vulgar comic 
song that her ears had picked up heaven knows where ; 
probably from some night reveller staggering home past 
her own chamber windows. 

“ Very well, now, my dear ; remember it is all for your 
own happiness,’’ said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

'‘Just so,” admitted Gladys. 

“ You know, as soon as ever you are married, you will go 
with your husband on a pleasant bridal tour, and see many 
distant places and interesting objects, and have a delight- 
ful time altogether.” 

“ Yes, I know.” 

“And then you wdll return to Kader Idris and be Lady 
Paramount there.” 

“All right !” 

“And now think of what I have told you, Gladys. And 
good-night,” said the lady, turning to leave the room. 

“ Good-night,” said Gladys — 

'^^And I will dream thou art Allan Percy’s child, 

Lullaby — lul-la-hy ” 

she sang, recurring to her employment of rocking the wax 
baby to sleep. 

Three days after this, just at nightfall, Mr. Stukely 
arrived. 

“ Now, you are sure it is all right this time, and no mis- 
take, mother ?” he asked, as soon as they were seated tete- 
a-tete at the tea-table. 

“ Quite sure, my son. Gladys is still a little odd in her 
wa3^s ; but she is no longer violent.” 

“ But — I wish she wasn’t odd, either,” complained Mr. 
Stukely. 

“Don’t be unreasonable, James. You cannot have every 
thing you wish in this world. Here in Gladys you have 
youth, beauty, accomplishments, amiabilit}^, rank, and 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


313 


wealth ; what more can any reasonable man expect ? If 
she is a little odd in her manners just at first, 3^ou must 
put up with it ; it will wear olf in time.” 

“ And does she really wear my hair in her, bosom ?” 

“ Yes ; next her heart.” 

“ Extraordinary !” 

“ I have seen her kiss it passionately.” 

“ Oh-h-h ! And to-morrow she can kiss me if she likes I 
But, mother, I must, indeed, really must see her alone, be- 
fore we stand up to be married again ! For, mother, I must 
have her promise to marry me personally before I risk be- 
ing made such a fool of as I was before.” 

“ Is not her promise to me sufficient ?” coldly demanded 
the lady. 

“ Yo, ma^am! She promised you before! and broke the 
promise to me,” said Mr. Stukely, firmly. 

Perceiving that her usually manageable son was in an 
unusually unmanageable fit of obstinacy, Mrs. Llewellyn 
promised that he should see Gladys alone the next day. 

Accordingly, early in the morning, Mrs. Llewellyn went 
up stairs to the chamber of Gladys to prepare her for the 
visit. First she gave her in a cup of coffee an extra dose 
of the well-paralyzing drug. Then she said : 

“ Gladys, my love, your cousin is coming up here to ask 
you to marry him. Now what are you going to answer 
him ?” 

“ What ought I to answer him ?” 

Why tell him yes, of course.” 

“ A^es, of course,” repeated Gladys, like a child learning 
a lesson by rote. 

“And perhaps he may ask you if you are going to marry 
him of your own free will. If he does, you must say — cer- 
tainly.” 

“ ‘ Certainly,’ ” repeated Gladys. 

“ And mind I if you donH marry him, you will never leave 
this room ! But if you do marry him, you will leave it im- 
mediately to travel all over the world, if you like.” 


314 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Oh, I’ll marry him ! never 3'ou fear I Lord bless your 
soul, I don’t care! I’d just as lief do one thing as 
another 1” 

“ Very well, then, do as I tell 3^011, and 3^011 will be 
happy.” 

'‘All right,” said Gladys. 

“ Mrs. Llewell3ui then went in search of her son, whom 
she found and brought to the door of Gladys’ room, 
sa3dng : 

“Now, unbeliever, go in and ask her for yourself! But 
mind ! she is a 3’^oung and delicate woman, and she will 
naturally be slow to acknowledge any ver3" ardent attach- 
ment to yourself You must take her love for granted, when 
she consents to marry you.” 

“ Ah, indeed !” 

“ Certainly. The greatest proof she can give 3^011 of her 
love is to give you her hand.” 

“ Extraordinary !” 

“ Stuff! what is there extraordinary about it?” 

“ Why, that she should consent to marry me without 
owning that she loves me !” 

“ You simpleton ! Do 3’^ou expect her to do the woing ?” 

“ Don’t know; I’ve seen ’em do it.” 

“ Seen whom ?” 

“ The girls to be sure.” 

“ You never did.” 

“ Oh ! haven’t I though.” 

“ Forward minxes ! Gladys is not one of those. Now 
go in and speak to her,” said Mrs. Llewell3ui, opening the 
chamber door to let him pass, and then closing it and plac- 
ing her ear to the ke3^hole. 

When James Stukely entered the room, Gladys was sit- 
ting before the piano, intent upon practising a new piece of 
music, for which task, indeed, she seemed scarcely to have 
sufficient power of application, for she continued to go over 
and over a few notes, like a parrot that could not learn its 
lesson. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 315 

Mr. Stukely felt his throat choked, and his face heated, 
as he softly walked toward. Gladys and faltered ; 

“ How do you do. Cousin Gladys 

“ Oh ! I am well, thank you 5 and you she said, wheel- 
ing around on her seat so as to face him. 

“All the better for seeing you, cousin,’’ said Mr. Stukely, 
plucking up a little spirit, and looking around for a chair. 

There was none near him, however ; nor did Gladys 
invite him to sit down ; but, on the contrary, she sat and 
looked at him with calm, questioning eyes, as though ex- 
pecting him to declare his business and then go. 

Mr. Stukely stood twisting his thumbs and losing his 
spirits for a little while, and then, not having the courage 
to fetch a chair and seat himself uninvited, he went to the 
corner of the piano, leaned his arm upon it, and stam- 
mered out his errand : 

“ Cousin Gladys, I see you are busy, so I wont stay long. 
I only came to — to ask — to ask you — if — if you — if you 
would — if you would please to marry me ?” 

“ Of course,” replied Gladys, in the words that had been 
put into her mouth. 

“ Oh ! I’m glad. I didn’t know you would. I — I was 

afraid. I thought — in short Cousin Gladys, is it of 

your own free will?” 

“ Certainly,” answered Gladys, as she had been taught. 

“Well, Cousin Gladys, all that I can say is that — that 
I thank you kindly. And that — that I love you dearly. 
And that — that I’ll always do whatever you tell me to do, 
Cousin Gladys. I — I — goodness knows I will.” 

Now, Gladys having said her lesson by rote, seemed to 
think that her duty was done ; for she coolly wheeled her- 
self around again to the piano and recommenced practis- 
ing her new piece of music. 

James Stukely remained leaning on the piano watching 
her and muttering to himself: 

Extraordinary.” 


31^ THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


But she seemed perfectly oblivious of his presence. 

At length he could bear his position no longer, and he 
stammered forth : 

“ Cousin Gladys — as you are busy — I think I will go 
away — and try to compose myself after this — this — this 
very agitating interview.’’ 

“Very well,” said Gladys, without lifting her eyes or 
stopping her fingers. 

“And — and you and mother, you know — can do all the 
rest,” said Mr. Stukely. 

As Glad3^s did not repl^" to this remark, but continued 
to strum, Mr. Stukely considered himself at liberty to 
leave her presence, and so stole on tiptoe from the room. 

“ Well ?” inquired Mrs. Llewellyn, who was waiting for 
him in the passage. 

“ Well, she says she’ll marry me ; and of her own free 
will, too.” 

“ I told you so. I hope you will take my word for the 
next thing I may happen to tell you.” 

“ Yes, mother. But ” 

“What now?” 

“ Glad^^s seems to me to be weak-minded. I do wish she 
had a little more mind.” 

“ Never worry about that, my dear. She has every thing 
else I — youth, beauty, amiability, rank, wealth and accom- 
plishments. And as to mind, my dear, why you have 
enough for both,” said the lady, patting him on the 
shoulder. 

“ That’s so,” said Mr. Stukely, complacently, and hap- 
pily unconscious of the covert irony in his mother’s words. 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 317 


CHAPTER XXYIII. 

A S H 0 C K. 

It is the same ! Oh, God I that I should dread 
To look upon the same ! — Answer me ! 

Speak to me, my beloved, speak to me ! 

I have so much endured, so much endure ! 

Look on me ! The grave hath not changed thee more 
Than I am changed for thee. Thou lovedst me. — Byrcm. 

“And now, James Stukely, that you have the consent of 
Gladys, given to yourself, personally, as you insisted it 
should be given, there exists no longer the least cause for 
delaying your marriage. I am quite tired of this place, 
where, quietly 'as we live, we are beginning to attract more 
attention than I like,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, when she and 
her son were once more alone in the drawing-room. 

“Ah, indeed ! But why do you dislike attention, mother ?” 

“ Because I do.” 

“ Extraordinary !” 

“ Therefore, all things considered, I think you had better 
go this morning and take out a special license, and speak 
to some clergyman, and have the marriage ceremonj" per- 
formed quietly here at eight o’clock this evening. And at 
ten we can take the night train for Washington, en route 
for Kader Idris.” 

“ No, mother ! No, no, no ! I object to that I” said Mr. 
Stukely. % 

“ Object to what, you provoking fellow ? What now ? I 
thought it was all right, now that Gladys freely consents,” 
exclaimed Mrs. Llewellyn, impatiently. 

“ Well, so it is all right so far ; but ” 

“ But what ?” 

“ I wont have my marriage ceremony performed in a back 
parlor, in the middle of the night, as if I was smuggling a 
wife, and ashamed of what I was doing. I wont, I wont, I 
wont I There, mother. I don’t want to be disrespectful, 


818 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

but I will be married in the clear daylight, in the open 
church, or — not — at — all P’ said Mr. Stukely, bringing his 
fist down upon the marble table with an emphatic thump. 

If ever there was a moment in which Mrs. Llew’ellyn felt 
thoroughly exasperated with her son, or strongly tempted 
to throw up her enterprise, it was now. 

“ Oh, patience !” she exclaimed. “ I would not mind 
having an unmanageable son, if he had only mind enough 
to manage for himself! Nor would I mind having a fool- 
ish son, if he would only allow me to manage for him. 
But I say a son, who is at once foolish and unmanageable, 
is the worst of all trials, as a stubborn idiot is the worst 
of all idiots.” 

Mr. Stukely made no sort of defence against this attack, 
but remained in sulky silence. 

Mrs. Llewellyn broke out afresh : 

“ Pray, sir, do you consider your cousin Gladys in a 
proper state of health, either in mind or body, to stand up 
in a public church and be married 

“ If she is well enough to be married at all, she is well 
enough to be married in church,” obstinately replied 
Mr. Stukely. 

“ Well, w^ell, let it be so then. You can be married to- 
morrow morning at ten o’clock, and we can leave town by 
the twelve o’clock train. Will that answer your purpose, 
sir ?” demanded Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ Oh, yes, mother. I only ask that every thing shall be 
done openly and houestl}^ — fair and above board, you 
know. And if I have said any thing rude, I am sure I beg 
your pardon, mother,” said Mr. Stukely, clearing up his 
cloudy brow. 

“ It is granted. But I would rather you should follow 
my advice than beg my pardon.” 

“ I would in all that is right, mother.” 

“-Would I advise you to anj’- thing wrong — I, 3^our mo- 
ther?” inquired Mrs. LlewTll3m, reproachfully. 

“ See here, mother : you ma}^ think it right for me and 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


819 


Gladys to be married privately at night in the back parlor ; 
and if you do, you are right to advise me accordingly. 
But I think, that for me to smuggle my marriage up in a 
corner in that way looks as if I was stealing a wife, and 
fearing to be found out in it. And since I do think so, it 
would be wron^ for me to consent to it. For ‘ to him that 
thinketh it sin, ft is sin,’ you know, mother,” explained Mr. 
Stukely, with more than his usual exercise of the reason- 
ing faculties. 

“ Well, w^ell — let it be as you please. I will argue with 
you no longer ; it would be useless to do so. Go now and 
make those few preparations that lie within your own pro- 
vince ; and I will do my part in mine,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, 
rising to break up the conference. 

When, how'ever, Mr. Stukely had left her she paced up 
and down the floor uneasily, muttering to herself : 

“ What an obstinate brute is my son when he ideases to 
be. To insist upop taking Gladys to church to be married ! 
I hope there will be no risk in it. I believe there will be 
none. I do not see how there can be any. tShe will not 
do as she did before. She has no spy and confederate now 
near her, to watch me and assist her. She has no stimu- 
lant at hand to counteract the effect of the sedative I give 
her. She is not playing a part now ; she is really subdued 
to my will. Therefore there can be no riski even in taking 
her to church to be married. But yet ” 

But yet Mrs. Llewellyn was not satisfied in her own 
mind as she slowly sauntered from the drawing-room. 

By nightfall every preparation for the marriage was 
completed. 

The next day dawned clear, frosty and brilliant. 

Early in the morning, Mrs. Llewellyn, attended by Ennis, 
bearing the breakfast tray, went to the chamber of her 
victim. 

She found poor Gladys already up, carelessly clad in a 
white wrapper she usually wore, sitting in a low nursing- 
chair, and engaged in dressing her wax baby. 


820 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ See I” she exclaimed, holding up the doll for inspection ; 
“ Ennis brought her a new lace robe yesterday ; see how 
nice she looks in it.” 

“ Yes ; but lay the doll down now, Gladys, and eat your 
breakfast. Do you know what day this is ?” inquired Mrs. 
Llewellyn. 

“ Yo ; what day is it ?” ^ 

“ It is your wedding-day, Gladys.” 

‘‘Law! is- it?” 

“ Why, certainly. Did you not know that you were to 
be married to-day?” 

“ Law, no !” 

“ Yes. So now lay the doll down, and come and eat 
your breakfast.” 

Gladys obediently placed tlie wax baby in the berceau- 
nette, and then drew up to the little table, and drank the 
drugged coffee, and ate the buttered rolls. 

“Yow, then, I am ready to go,” she, said, rising, and 
wiping her mouth. 

“ But you must be dressed before you go, you know,” 
said the lady. 

“ Oh, yes, sure enough !” said the poor creature, catching 
up a black shawl and throwing it over her white wrapper, 
and then running to the wardrobe to get her bonnet. 

'‘Stop, stop, Gladys! Would you go to church in a 
nightgbwn? Nonsense! You don’t know what you are 
about.” 

“ I don’t believe I do,” laughed Gladj-s. 

“ Sit down there in that seat before your toilet-table, and 
let Ennis dress you.” 

Gladys laughed and obeyed, unloosening her black hair, 
and flinging it abroad over her white shoulders, as she sat 
there. 

Ennis very gravely commenced combing out that long 
hair, for Ennis was beginning to have doubts of the pro- 
priety of her own conduct in aiding the plans of her 
mistress. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 321 

The bridal toilet of Gladys was soon completed. 

On this occasion, however, instead of the wreath of orange 
blossoms and the long vail, she wore a white bonnet and 
white mantle over her white silk dress. As soon as her 
gloves were drawn on and the prayerbook was placed in her 
hands, she was led down stairs to the front door, where the 
bridegroom, in a “wedding garment,’’ awaited her. 

“ I hope it is all right, now, Cousin Gladys ?” he said, as 
he drew her white gloved hand within his arm. 

“All right, now,” she answered. 

“And mind, now, if you feel like backing out again, you 
had better do it here and now, than wait until you get be- 
fore the parson, and then mortify me by flinging me off,” 
he continued. 

“ Oh, she will not do that,” hastil3^ put in Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ Oh, no ; she will not do that,” parrot-like repeated 
Gladys. 

“ Yery well, then, come on,” said Mr. Stukely, leading his 
bride-elect to the carriage that stood waiting before the door. 

Mrs. Llewellyn followed, for she was to ride with them. 
And while Mr. Stukely was putting Gladys into her seat, 
Mrs. Llewellyn looked up and down the street, in a vague 
uneasiness lest the strange hod-bearer should make his ap- 
pearance, and in some way or another interfere with the 
proceedings of the day. But he was nowhere visible. She 
therefore followed her party into the carriage, which was 
immediately driven ofl*. 

The church that had been selected by Mrs. Llewelljm 
and her sou, in council, for the performance of the marriage 
ceremony, was at the west end of the town, two good miles 
from their residence. This was a precaution adopted by 
the lady to prevent the bridal party from being followed by 
all the idlers in the street, as it certainly would have been 
had thej^ gone to any church in the immediate neighborhood. 

As the carriage was driven at a good speed, they soon 
reached their destination. 

20 


822 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


How is it that news flies ? Who can tell ? 

■ The news that a wedding was to come off at St. Asaph’s 
Church that morning had in some manner preceded them. 
Perhaps the sexton, who had received instructions to open 
and air the church, had dropped a hint to the first and second 
grave-diggers, who had spread the intelligence. Or per- 
haps the people simply guessed the truth from the fact of 
the church being open on a week-day morning that was 
neither a fast nor a festival. 

Be that as it may, a crowd had collected about the church ; 
news-boys, matcb-girls, boot-blacks, idlers, vagrants and 
beggars made quite a mob to wait for the bridal party to 
arrive. 

And even the mechanics and laborers that were at work 
on a block of new buildings that were in course of erection 
on the opposite side of the street “knocked off” for a few 
minutes to see the wedding. 

The carriage drew up at the church door. The bride- 
groom alighted and assisted his bride to alight. She was 
so closely vailed that the crowd could not see her face as 
she was led through it into the church. 

Mrs. Llewellyn got out with the help of her footman, 
and, as she followed the youthful pair, she threw her eyes 
supercilliously over the “rabble rout” that had gathered 
to receive her ; and in doing so she encountered — the eyes 
of the strange workman I 

He stood there, hod on shoulder, gazing upon her with 
a sort of idiotic consternation depicted in his blank stare 
and open mouth. 

An icy bolt of terror shot through her heart, and, shiver- 
ing as with an ague fit, she hurried into the church. 

Quite a considerable number of respectable-looking 
people occupied the back-seats and side-pews. These were 
uninvited wedding guests, or, at best, guests only invited 
by the sexton. 

Mrs. Llewellyn, angered by the crowd outside, terrified 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


323 


by the strange hod-carrier, and annoyed by the people in- 
side, found an opportunity, in coming up behind her son, 
to whisper fiercely in his ear the questions : 

“ How is this ? Where do all these people come from ? 
Who gave them leave to gather here 

“Well, mother, I believe when the church doors are 
open the people that are pew-holders have a right to come 
ill and participate in any thing that is going forward. And 
I, for my part, have no objection. Have you, Cousin 
Gladys ?” inquired the bridegroom. 

“ Law no,” replied the bride. 

“ There now you see, mother, Gladys has no objection no 
more than I have. And besides — a marriage should be a 
public ceremony, not a private one. Let the folks come 
and see mine, if it does them any good. I told the sexton 
so.” 

“Always a fool !” muttered Mrs. Llewellyn to herself. 

By this time they had reached the space in front of the 
altar, at which stood the officiating clergyman book in 
hand. 

The little party soon arranged itself. 

The clergyman opened the book and commenced the 
ceremony. 

The bride was as calm and as cold as the “ Snow 
maiden.” The bridegroom was a little fidgety, as though 
troubled by reminiscences of the former marriage cere- 
mony. 

Mrs. Llewellyn stood a little in the rear of the party, 
outwardly composed but inwardly agitated, and all the 
while watching through the corner of her eye the crowd 
that had pushed its way into the aisles of the church, as 
if she dreaded an interruption from some of l^hem. When 
the minister reached that critical part of the ceremony 
which had proved so fatal to her plans on a former occa- 
sion, and as he read again the passage: “ If any man can 
show just cause why they may not be joined together, let 


824 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace, 
and while he made the usual pause, she held her breath in 
a guilty dread. 

The pause was not interrupted, however. The adjura- 
tion was not answered. No one present seemed to know 
any just cause why the ceremony should not proceed. So 
the danger, real or imaginary, was safely passed. Safely 
passed, even though, to Mrs. Llewellyn’s unspeakable hor- 
ror and amazement, in lifting her head she saw the myste- 
rious workman, hod on shoulder, standing with the crowd 
in the middle aisle, and staring with open eyes and mouth 
at the actors in the solemn farce before him. 

But by this time the minister had turned to the young 
couple before him, and was in the act of charging them, 
under the most awful pains and penalties, that if either of 
them knew any impediment why they might not be joined 
together — to then and there confess it. 

Again Mrs. Llewellyn held her breath suspended. And 
even Mr. Stukely joined in her terrors during the short 
pause that ensued ; for he remembered that it was just at 
this point of the proceedings, on a former occasion, that 
Gladys had torn off her bridal wreath and vail, and uttered 
her agonized protestation against the forced marriage. 
Now, however, Gladys remained quietly enough, with her 
eyes fixed upon the ground, unconscious of or indifferent 
to what was passing around her. 

And the crisis passed safely. The bndegroom and his 
lady mother breathed freely. And the ceremony proceeded 
prosperously toward its close. 

When, however, the right moment came for the bride- 
groom to place the ring upon the finger of the bride, that 
transaction required some little shifting of position. And 
thus it was that, in turning half around to present her un- 
gloved left hand to the bridegroom, the bride stood sud- 
denly face to face with — the hod-carrier I 

Magnetized by what he gazed upon, he had unconsciously 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 825 


elbowed his way through the crow^ toward the scene of 
action, and now he stood obtrusively near the actors and 
face to face with the bride ! 

As one struck with sudden madness by the sight of the 
dead raised from the grave, for one supreme moment Gladys 
stood with ashen cheeks and parted lips and dilated eyes 
staring at the apparition ; and then, with one wild, agonized, 
unearthly shriek, she cried, “Arthur!” threw up her arms, 
and fell forward in a deadly swoon. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A BOUT. 

Why stand ye thus amazed ? Methinks your eyes 
Are stretched in consternation ; and all here 
Seem like so many senseless statues ; 

As if your souls had suffered an eclipse, 

Betwixt your judgments and affections. 

“ So help me Bob, if I didn’t know it ! I said that fellow 
would turn up at last 1” cried Mr. Stukely, breaking out 
into school-boyish expletives more expressive of vexation 
than alarm as he dived to the floor to lift the fallen bride. 

At the same instant the “ fellow” to which Mr. Stukely 
had alluded slunk awa}^, as if frightened by the effect his 
presence had produced, and made his escape through the 
crowd. 

By this time all was confusion. 

The bridegroom, the minister, and the lady, were all 
kneeling upon the floor around the swooning bride. 

People were leaving their pews and hurrying to the spot, 
with anxious inquiries of the cause of trouble, and earnest 
proffers of assistance. 

The crowd in the aisles were also pressing forward. 

“Air 1 air ! good people ; stand back and give her air 1” 


826 * THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


implored the ministeij^as he raised 'the head of the insensi- 
ble girl and fanned her with his broad-brimmed hat. 

“ What is the matter asked a half a dozen voices in the 
rear. 

“ The bride is in hysterics !” “ The bride has fainted !” 

“ The bride is dead I’’ answered half a dozen others at the 
front. 

“ What was the cause of it ?” inquired the outsiders 

“ She was frightened by a drunken man,” answered an 
insider. 

“ No, it was by a crazy man,” said another. 

“ Hush, you are all wrong ; she saw her old sweetheart,” 
whispered a third. And the whisper went around. 

“Air, air, good friends ! For the love of mercy, let her 
have air !” again implored the minister. 

But the good people seemed to imagine that air meant 
pressure, for they pressed forward more and more, with 
expressions of S3^mpathy and offers of aid. 

“ Poor thing ! — take my smelling salts and put it to her 
nose, sir,” said one lad}-, reaching a small cut-glass vial 
over the heads of all the rest. 

“ How deathly white she looks ! Here, sir, take the 
bottle of cologne water and bathe her temples,” said an- 
other lady, reaching over with another restorative. 

“ Why, the breath has gone out of her body. Look here, 
sir ! Here is a pocket-flask of brandy ! Take it and try 
to force a few drops between her lips I It will act like 
magic,” said a gentleman, stretching a long arm over the 
heads of the crowd, to put a “ pocket-pistol ” into the hands 
of the minister, who was still most assiduous in his efforts 
to restore the fainting woman. 

The minister took every thing that was offered and tried 
every thing that was recommended ; but did not cease to 
fan his charge and to implore the people to fall back. 

But the people read his order backward, and reversed it, 
and pressed around the swooning bride and shielded her 
from the draft. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 827 


Madam,” said the minister, at last, “ allow me to sug- 
gest that the young lady be convej^ed into the vestry-room. 
There, at least, she can have air.” 

“I thank you very much, sir! ‘With your permission 
we will take her there for the present,” answered Mrs. 
Llewellyn. 

“ So help me. Bob, I knew how it was going to be !” 
said the bridegroom, as he stooped and lifted his twice- 
lost bride in his arms. 

Led on by the sexton, who opened the doors and showed 
the way, he easily carried her into the vestr^^'-room, where 
he laid her on the sofa. 

Mrs. Llewellyn and the minister followed, and the crowd 
jDressed after them. 

But the minister would on no account allow them to 
pass the threshold of the vestry-room, the door of which 
he closed upon them. 

And so there was no one left in the room with Gladys 
but her own immediate party. 

Mrs. Llewellyn stood at the head of the sofa, bathing 
the face of the charge with eau-de-cologne. When the 
minister approached, she said to him : 

“ You must have been very much astonished, sir, by the 
scene you have just witnessed.” 

“ I was, madam,” he answered. 

“ It was — extraordinary!” exclaimed Mr. Stukely. 

“ It was, sir !” agreed the minister.. 

“Hold your tongue, James Stukely!” said his mother, 
in a fierce whisper. Then turning to the minister, she said 
aloud : 

“Now that we are alone, sir, I may inform 3^011 that my 
3^oung friend here has suffered very severe bereavements 
in the loss of her father, her mother, and a young com- 
panion, who was as dear to her as a brother. These losses 
have so afiected her mind as to leave her in a very nervous 
and hysterical condition. This morning, the accidental 


828 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


resemblance of an individual present in the crowd, that 
pressed into the church, to witness the marriage, to a de- 
ceased 3^oung friend of her own, who died under peculiarly 
distressing circumstances, excited and overwhelmed her, 
and occasioned this swoon.” 

The minister bowed and bowed to every thing the lady 
said. But the more she explained, the less he understood. 

The bridegroom meanwhile stood at the feet of his bride, 
making himself as passively useful as a table, or a stand 
might do, by holding bottles, glasses, pocket-handkerchiefs, 
fans and everj?- thing else that was thrust into his hands, 
and muttering to himself; 

“ Extraordinary !” 

And then inconsistently enough, breaking out in child- 
ish style : 

Blest if I didn’t know how it was going to be all the 
time !” 

Sometimes Mrs. Llew^ellyn caught his eye, and in com- 
mon parlance “ gave him a look” which would silence him 
for a few seconds. 

At length as all their efforts to restore Gladys to con- 
sciousness proved unavailing, Mrs. Llewellyn looked up 
from her task and said ; 

“ I think, sir, that I had better take her home, where she 
can be put to bed and receive medical attendance.” 

“ I think, perhaps, madam, that you are right, if, in her 
present condition, she can be removed with safety,” said the 
minister, politely and sympathetically. 

“ Oh, certainly, she can I It will only be necessary to 
place her in an easy position and to drive very slowly. Is 
there any one you can be so good as to send, sir, to see if 
our carriage is waiting?” 

“ Certainly, madam,” said the minister, leaving the room. 

In a few minutes he returned, saying : 

“ The carriage is waiting ; but as there is a curious crowd 
collected around it to wait and see the result of this affair, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 329 


I thought it best to send the sexton to tell the coachman 
to drive away and come in on the back street and draw up 
at the vestry back door, which is close at hand, and which 
will enable you to take the young lady away privately, 
without your being annoyed by the crowd.’’ 

I thank you very much, indeed, sir I We wdll take 
our unfortunate charge at once to the carriage then — 
James Stukely lend me your assistance.” 

Once more the luckless bridegroom lifted his bride in his 
arms. The obliging minister walked before and opened 
the doors ; and thus Gladys was borne carefully out of the 
church and placed tenderly on the cushions of the carriage. 

Mrs. Llewellyn thanked the minister for his services, and 
allowed him to add another^ item by putting her into her 
seat. 

Mr. Stukely followed his mother,. bowed his adieu to the 
minister and gave the order to the coachman to drive home. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

ANGER. 


Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, 

Sadder than owl-songs on the midnight blast. 

Is that portentous phrase, “ I told you so,” ’ 

Uttered by friends, those prophets of the past, 

Who ’stead of saying what you now should do. 

Own they foresaw that you would fall at last ; 

And solace your slight lapse ’gainst honos mores 
With a long memorandum of old stories. — Byron. 

As soon as they found themselves alone with the uncon- 
scious girl, the mother and the son fell into bitter recimi- 
nations. 

“ So much, sir, for your mulish stubbornness in insisting 
that the marriage ceremony should be performed in a 
church I Such a disgraceful scene as we have just wit- 


330 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


nessed could not have taken place at home !” said Mrs. 
Llewelljm, savagely. ^ 

Blest if I’m not glad for that very reason that we were 
in church ! So help me Bob, I knew that fellow was going 
to turn up sooner or later! And if so, it was better that 
he should have turned up now and here, than at any later 
period somewhere else — than for instance at Kader Idris 
after we had been married and settled there for a month.” 

Mrs. Llewellyn looked at him in a furious silence. But 
he continued ; 

“ Bless me if I am not thankful that Providence did 
intervene and save us. I am not a villain I I didn’t want 
another man’s wife or sweetheart either, by my side ; nor a 
heinous sin on my conscience ; no, nor by George, I didn’t 
want a bowie-knife in my heart, nor a bullet in my brain 
either!” 

Have you done, idiot, at last ? Can I get in a word 
edgewa3’^s now ? What nonsense is this you have been 
talking ? What ‘ fellow’ do you allude to in your elegant 
phrase of ‘turning up?’” fiercely demanded the lady. 

“ Arthur Powis to be sure ! I saw him the instant that 
Gladys screamed ! And I knew him the instant I saw him !” 
though he was very much changed, and wore the dress of a 
workman.” 

“ Arthur Powis ! Are you then such a fatuitous, egregi- 
ous, incorrigible fool as to mistake that brutal hod-bearer 
for Arthur Powis, an officer and a gentleman ?” 

“ I have seen a good actor play many parts in my life. 
I have seen a tragedian, who was an accomplished gentle- 
man in private life, play an old king, a young prince, a 
peasant, a robber, a negro, and an Indian, all in one week I 
It may suit Arthur Powis to play the part of a hod-bearer 
on this occasion.” 

“ It may. But for what end ?” 

.“All! that I can’t tell. I see strange facts! but I can- 
not give explanations of them. And I know that man 
was Arthur Powis as surely as I am myself!” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 331 

\ • 

I grant you there was a likeness — a strong likeness; a 
striking one if you please ; it struck me ; it struck me as 
much as a fortnight ago, when I first saw the man ’’ 

“ Oh, you have seen him before I and still you let me 
go ” 

“ Listen ! — And don’t interrupt me, sir !” said his 
mother, stamping. “ I saw the man pass our house, on 
his way to his work, about a fortnight ago. I confess the 
likeness to Arthur Powis affected me so, that I had the 
curiosity to make inquiries as to who and what he might 
be. Well — I found out that his name is William Simmons, 
and that he is a stone mason’s laborer, and has lived in 
New York all his life.” 

“ Is — that — so ?” slowly inquired Mr. Stukely. 

“Yes. But if you want further proof, recall the man’s 
face when Gladys screamed.” 

“ Oh, I can recall it well enough ! I can see it now !” 

“Yes, in its likeness to that of Arthur Powis I But 
pray did you observe the expression of that man’s face ?” 

“ N-n-o. Y-ye-s ! I believe I did. But I didn’t think 
of it at the time. I thought only of the likeness.” 

“ Of course ; but think of the expression now. Was it 
the expression of astonishment, wonder, and indignation, 
that a man like Arthur Powis — that any man — would feel 
on seeing his own wife in the act of being married to an- 
other ?” 

“ N-no, that it wasn’t !” 

“ Was it not, on the contrary, a look of stupid curi- 
osity, that changed at once into foolish fright as Gladys 
screamed ?” 

“ Yes, certainly.” 

“And his actions. Were they the actions of a man who • 
saw his wife about to be married to another ?” 

“ N-n-o, they were not.” 

“ Why, he stai'ed at the performance with his mouth and 
eyes wide open, until Gladys saw him and screamed, and 


832 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


then he took fright and escaped, as if he had expected to 
be held accountable for the interruption, as indeed he ought 
to have been.” 

“ That’s so,” admitted Mr. Stukely ; “but then, after all, 
he might have been Arthur Powis in disguise, and playing 
a part for a purpose.” 

“James Stukely 1 be rational I If that man had been 
Arthur Powis, attempting to disguise himself, would he 
not have done it so effectually as to leave no likeness to 
his former self, and no room for suspicion ? Would he not 
have stained his fair skin, cut off his auburn whiskers, and 
hidden his auburn hair under a black wig ? And would he 
have had self-control enough to play the part you suspect 
him of playing at the marriage of his own wife ? And 
then, for what conceivable purpose should he have done 
so ?” 

“ I — can’t say, mother.” 

“No, James Stukely I There was no attempt to dis- 
guise, no playing of a part ! There was a simple hod- 
carrier, with an accidental likeness to a gentleman ; and 
frightened out of his wits by the effects it produced. Be- 
sides, 3^011 forget I the man has been known in this city for 
3^ears as William Simmons, stonemason’s laborer.” 

“ Of course that settles the question, or ought to. But, 
mother, after all, the greatest argument against that man’s 
not being Arthur Powis has just come into my head.” 

“What is that?” inquired Mrs. Llewellyn, with suspi- 
cious anxiety. 

“ Why, mother, it is this — that if that man had been 
Arthur Powis, he would not have kept off from Gladys for 
an instant! he would have rushed to her and raised her 
from the floor, and supported her in his arms, and carried 
her off from us if all earth and all the other place had been 
there to prevent him! What! when she called upon his 
name so piteously, and stretched out her arms to him and 
dropped fainting at his feet, would he have slunk away and 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 833 


left her ? No, ma’am ! I, for one, should have had a knife 
in my stomach, first thing. And I thank Heaven I haven’t !” 

“ Yes, yes ; true, true,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, as if she de- 
rived as much satisfaction from the contemplation of this 
argument as Mr. Stukely himself did. 

“ But now, mother, look at Gladys. I think she is 
reviving. I don’t want her to he neglected, even if she is 
not to be my wife.” 

“ Not to be your wife ? What do 3^ou mean, you foolish 
boy ?” said the lady, as she raised the head of Gladys to a 
more comfortable position and held the smelling salts to 
her nose. 

“ Why, mother, you don’t suppose I am going to try it a 
third time, do you?” 

“ Yes I do ! The more I fail, the more determined I am 
to succeed I” said Mrs. Llewellyn, with a firmness worthy 
of the most heroic cause. 

“ Then, mother, you will have to succeed without me ! for 
I swear by all my hopes of heaven, I will have nothing 
further to do with marrying Cousin Gladys I” said Mr. 
Stukely. And his mother saw that he had fallen into one 
of his “ mulish ” fits, from which it was in vain to hope that 
either threats, persuasions, or arguments would ever move 
him. 

“ Oh, well,” said the lady to herself, with a grim smile,- 
“ the only difference is that I shall have two to drug in- 
stead of one. And I can do it just as well as not while my 
hand is in I It would have become necessary sooner or 
later, in any case. James Stukely’s intellect is certainly 
developing more than is quite convenient to me. For I 
must continue to have as long as I live the uncontrolled 
administration of the Kader Idris estates ! And neither a 
weak son nor a sill}^ daughter-in-law shall interfere with me 
or control them.” 

While the selfish, ruthless, and ambitious woman was 
turning over these thoughts in her mind, the carriage drew 
up before her own door. 


834 THE B R'4 I> E OF L L E W E L L‘Y In . 

Gladys was lifted out and carried up stairs and laid on 
her bed, before the wondering eyes of Ennis, who happened 
to be in the room, engaged in packing up her young mis- 
tress’s wardrobe for the journey. 

“ Oh, dear ! has she fainted inquired the girl, with 
more sympathy than she had ever betrayed in the presence 
of her mistress. 

“ Yes 1 there was a rabble rout around the church ! 
Among them some laborers from a block of half-finished 
buildings opposite. Among the latter, that hod-carrier, who 
actually, by some oversight, was allowed to push his way 
into the aisle. Of course you know what followed. Your 
young lady saw him, and fainted. Now assist me to un- 
dress her.” 

Ennis would gladly have asked whether the marriage 
ceremony had been concluded, but she did not dare to do so. 

“ James Stukely, you can leave the room,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn. 

And Mr. Stukely left. 

“ Oh, if he is obliged to leave the room, that is a sign 
that they are not married yet. And I am sure I am very 
glad and thank Heaven,” thought Ennis, as she tenderly 
helped to relieve Gladys of her cumbersome bridal finery. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

RESOLUTION. 

Despair gives resolution to the weak ; 

Entice the sun from his eliptic line ; 

He shall obey your beck and wander from 

His sphere, as soon as I from my resolve ! — Baron. 

When Gladys was relieved of her tight-fitting dress and 
laid at ease back on her pillow, she drew a deep, fluttering 
breath, opened her eyes and gazed around. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


335 


Mrs. Llewellyn, who was anxiously waiting in the room, 
drew near the bed, stooped over her, and whispered : 

“ How do you feel, love 

But the question had scarcely left her false lips ere she 
shrank back appalled at the awful meaning that shone from 
those newly oj^ened eyes. 

The thunderbolt that had fallen upon the head of Gladys 
in the church had scattered the fatal lethargy that held her 
faculties captive, and had flashed into her soul the light of 
a full intelligence. And in the steady look she fixed upon 
the face of Mrs. Llewellyn there was terrible accusation, 
defiance, and danger. 

And that bold, bad woman drew back in momentary 
consternation. She soon rallied her self-command, how- 
ever, and again approached and bent over her victim, say- 
ing, with forced calmness : 

“ I hope you feel better, my love 

“ Begone exclaimed Gladys, in a deep, low, indignant 
voice. 

Mrs. Llewellyn withdrew from the bedside to a little 
stand near the windows, where she poured out a glass of 
port wine, which she brought to her charge, saying, hon- 
eyly: 

“ You are excited, my poor child. Drink this ; it will 
do you good.” 

Gladys stretched out her hand, took the wine glass, and 
fixing her eyes, now burning black, with half suppressed 
fury upon the face of the traitress, she answered, sternly : 

‘‘ Oh, wretch ! wretch I lost to every feeling of humanity I 
to ev^ry principle of honor I Look you I this is the way in 
which I drink your wine and toast your health ! To the 
destruction of both!” And, so saying, she deliberately 
turned the glass upside down, and poured its contents upon 
the carpet. 

“ Gladys I what do you mean by that ? You have ruined 
this beautiful Brussels ! and you have wasted the good 


336 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


wine I” exclaimed Mrs. Llewellyn, in an agitated voice, and 
vailing her excessive anxiety under a pretence of house- 
wifely care. 

“ Whether is it better to waste wine, or to waste human 
life ? To ruin a gaudy woollen rag or a human soul ? 
What do I mean by it ? I mean something like this ex- 
claimed Glad3^s, tossing the empty glass into the fireplace. 
'' I mean, madam, to take no more of your secretl}?" admin- 
istered slow poisons. And in order to avoid doing so, I 
will henceforth take nothing from your hands.” 

“ Gladys, 3"Ou are mad! And realty, if 3^ou go on in this 
violent and destructive manner you must be subjected to a 
stricter restraint than ever 1” said Mrs. Lleweltyn, in a 
voice of rage and fear, to which she in vain attempted to 
give a tone of calm expostulation. 

‘‘No, Mrs. Jay ; I am neither mad nor violent, though I 
have good grounds for being both 1 Oh, I know now! I 
know all! I have been shamefully deceived and drugged 
into temporarj^ imbecility, if not into absolute idiocy 1 I 
have been brought to the very verge of guilt and dishonor ! 
Another hour, and I should have been plunged into crime 
and ruin ! — /, a Lleweltyn ! But I saw my husband. I 
saw him in good time. He looked like a workman ; and he 
gazed at me strangely ; but I knew him, and I was saved 1” 

“ Gladys, what phrenzy is this ? Arthur Powis has been 
dead a 3mar. Can the dead rise ?” 

“ I know not ; but in the flesh, or in the spirit, I saw my 
husband at the church. And I was saved.” 

“ Nonsense I You have been shocked and terrified 1)3^ the 
striking likeness of a living man to a dead one. We all 
know -who the fellow was that frightened you so in the 
church, where he never should have been permitted to come, 
at least on such an occasion as that of this morning. He 
is one William Simmons, a stonemason’s laborer, who used 
to work on this very street, and pass the house several 
times a da3".” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 337 


“ He was Arthur Powis. Ho you think that the disguise 
of a workman’s dress and a hod could deceive me ?” 

“ Gladys, not the disguise, but the likeness has deceived 
you. But, if he had been Mr. Powis, why should he have 
worn the disguise ?” 

“ I know not. I only know he was my husband !” 

“If so, why did he not forbid your marriage with my 
son ? Why did he not claim you, even at the altar ?” 

“ I know not. I only know he was my husband,” per- 
sisted Gladys. 

“ But is not the fact, that he did not claim you, sufficient 
proof, even if there were no other proof, that he was not 
the person you suppose him to be ?” argued Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn. 

“ 1^0 — it is not ! for he might not have thought me worth 
claiming ! He might have thought me false and fallen I 
Oh!” she suddenly cried, in a voice of anguish, “ Heaven 
knows it must have looked like it to his eyes, to see me 
standing up there to be married to another man. Or he 
might not have believed his own eyes and ears ; or he 
might have been stunned into momentary inactivit}^ ; .or, 
finally, he might have been seized by the bystanders and 
forced away from me too promptly. A thousand things 
might have happened to prevent his interfering. I cannot 
tell what hindered him from claiming me. I fainted too 
suddenly to see for myself. But what I do know is, that 
that man, who stood face-to-face with me at church, dressed 
as a workman, and carrying a hod, was Arthur Powis !!’ 

“ Gladys, I will have that man sought for and brought to 
your presence, to convince you that he is William Simmons, 
a stonemason’s laborer, who has lived and worked in New 
York for years!” said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ I take you at your word !” cried Gladys, eagerly. “ I 
accept the challenge ! Bring him here ! Bring him quickly ! 
That I may tell him all, and vindicate myself before him — 
and go forth with him !” 

21 


838 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“Very well, my clear, I will certainly do so. And now, 
Gladys, love, be reasonable, and take a glass of wine to 
revive your strength. See, dear, I will bring you the de- 
canter and a clean glass, and you shall pour the wine out 
for yourself; and so your injurious suspicions may not de- 
prive you of a necessary stimulant,” said the lady, as she 
went to bring the little tray upon which the decanter and 
glasses stood. 

“ What !” said Gladys, “at your old tricks again so soon, 
Mrs. Jay?” 

“’Gladys! for shame! help 5^ourself to the wine!” said 
the lady, recoiling, and then offering the tray. 

“ No, no, Mrs. Jay! I cannot trust you, Mrs. Ja}’’ ! You 
may have drugged the whole decanter, for aught that I 
know ! I cannot trust you, Mrs. Jay ! I should be an 
idiot to do so!” 

“ Gladys ! beware ! how dare you speak so to me ?” 

“ Madam ! do you beware! how dare you ask me such a 
question, and brave the answer that I can make ! Why do 
I speak to you thus ? Why ? Because, from the very first 
moment 3^ou entered my father’s house at Kader Idris, an 
honored guest and a cherished relative, to this moment 
that you stand here over the wreck of his only daughter, 
wrecked by your contrivance, j^ou have been guilty of the 
blackest treachery toward him, your benefactor — toward 
me, your ward ! From the moment 3"ou entered that 
house you resolved to become its mistress. You threw 
your devilish spells over my father’s mind and heart, and 
over my own. The old man and the young girl were 
equally unsuspicious of guile ! First, no doubt, you de- 
signed to become my father’s second wife, and rule him 
and me and our estate from that position ! But my father’s 
fidelity to the memory of m3" dear mother was too strong 
even for your fascinations to undermine !” 

“ Gladys ! be silent ! I command you !” interrupted the 
enraged woman. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


839 


“ I will not I I am a Llewellyn I and do not understand 
commands, except those I issue ! Finding you could not 
be my father’s wdfe, you insinuated yourself into his confi- 
dence, and became his trusted friend ! He could not marry 
you ; but he gave you the greatest proof of confidence a 
man could give a woman — he made you the sole guardian 
of his orphan daughter, the sole trustee of her estate ! 
How did you repay his confidence ? How did you dis- 
charge your duties? First, as soon as my father had made 
his will, investing you with all this irresponsible power ” 

“A power that I still hold,” hissed the woman, in a low, 
deep, threatening voice. 

“A power that you still assume, and criminally abuse ; 
but that you no longer legally hold, madam ! for whether, 
now, I am a wife or widow, since I was married I have 
ceased to be your ward.” 

“ We shall see that.” 

“We shall — but you interrupt me, Mrs. Jay. I w^as 
about to tell you why I spoke to you in the way you found 
so objectionable. I say, from the time my dear father made 
that fatal will, giving you all this power — he sickened 
ivith a strange disease. Oh, Heaven of heavens ! My dear, 
lost father. I dare not dwell upon the manner of his 
death ! Mrs. Jay, what was the disease my father died ofV' 

“ Gladys, cease this insane raving, I say !” gasped the 
woman, turning white as death. 

“ The doctors, with all their skill, could not discover its 
nature nor alleviate its pangs. He died. Mrs. Jay, what 
did he die ofV^ 

“ Gladys I cease, cease, I say !” exclaimed the woman, 
stamping. 

“I will not. You asked me for a ‘why.’ I will give 
you one, and a ‘ wherefore’ at the back of it. My father 
died. You best know how. No sooner was he under the 
sod than 3^011 began your machinations against my peace 
and honor. You intercepted all the letters between me 


840 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


and my betrothed, and subjected me to a cruel anxiety and 
suspense that preyed upon my health and spirits for many 
months. When, in spite of all you could do or say to 
shake my faith in mj^ dear Arthur, I still trusted him, 3^0 u 
produced forged letters purporting to be my father’s written 
commands — dying commands to his child to break off her 
engagement with Mr. Powis and to wed — whom ? — ^^"our 
idiotic son, J ames Stukely. When, in spite of all this, my 
betrothed returned to me, and we rejected the forged letters 
and their false counsel, you, by an act of arbitrary power, 
made me a prisoner in my own room. When, favored by 
fortune, I made my escape and gave m^^ hand in marriage 
to Arthur, you followed us ! like some foul and prowling 
beast of prey 3"ou crept secretly on our track. I saw you 
on one day. On the next I saw not ni}^ husband. What 
became of him, Mrs. Jay ?” 

“ Girl ! I will not be outraged in my own house !” 

“ You will be outraged in a more public place, madam, 
before the play is over. What became of Arthur Powis, I 
ask you? You told me then that he had been assigned to 
the command of a store-ship at the Portsmouth navy yard. 
You deceived those dear old ladies, too, who had me under 
their protection. I know 3’ou did, or they never would have 
consented to m^’’ leaving them under the circumstances. 
You beguiled me from their protection — beguiled me by 
the basest falsehood ” 

“ Ungrateful girl ! I drew 3''ou gently from a life of dis- 
honor and misery, to one of honor and safet3" under my 
own protection !” exclaimed Mrs. Llewell3Ui. 

Without heeding her interruption, Glad3'^s continued : 

“ You sent me, ill, weak, and alone, to a strange seaport, 
in search of a man who had never been there, and a ship 
that had no existence. You followed me where 3'ou had 
first sent me. You found me in the condition that you had 
worked to produce. Deceived, baffled, and half distracted, 

I was wandering about the Portsmouth navy 3^ard in search 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 841 


of the husband you had sent me to seek, when you arrested 
me as your mad ward !” 

“ You were mad !” 

“No! never! weakened, subdued, palsied as I have 
been, I have never for an instant been mad ! — To resume, 
madam I for you shall hear all the ‘ why !’ You could not 
have taken me away from those kindly old ladies except 
by fraud ; but you could seize me in the streets of Ports- 
mouth hy force — that was what you worked for ! You did 
so I You got me in your power ; you dosed, drugged, 
slowly poisoned me ; you took me to Kader Idris ; shut 
me out from all my kind ; degraded me to your infamous 
will ; and you would have consummated your criminal pur- 
pose in marrying me to your imbecile son, but for the in- 
tervention of an humble agent — my poor lost mother’s 
maid and my own nurse, who discovered your nefarious 
practices and warned me — yes 1 and saved me then. But 
you suspected her, and consequently — she disappeared ! as 
all disappear who are in your way, Mrs. Jay. I missed 
her one morning, and never saw her more I What became 
of Ailie, Mrs. Jay ?” 

Again the pallor of death spread over the face of Mrs. 
Llewellyn ; but she soon rallied her flying courage, and 
answered haughtily : 

“You insolent girl, how dare you ask me ? When a 
servant offends me I get rid of her.” 

“ I know you do, Mrs. Jay. But — will you get rid of 
retributive justice as easily? Well I my .only remaining, 
humble friend removed from me, I made but a feeble stand 
against your devilish power. My situation, too, made, me 
an easy prey. I became a mother, and had to send my 
child away to save her from your fell plots. Alas I did I 
save her ? Heaven knows I Again you dosed, drugged, 
slowly poisoned me. Again you degraded me to your own 
infamous will. And this time certainly you would have 
effected your felonious purpose and married me to your 


342 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 

foolish son, but for the intervention of Providence. I saw 
my husband in the church and I was saved !” 

Base, shameless, thankless girl ! I rescued you from a 
life of dishonor ; for the adventurer I have permitted 5^011 
to call your husband never was so in reality. All that I 
did for you was legally as well as humanely done ; for not 
being a wife, but a minor, you were still my ward, owing 
me obedience. I had still the authority of a guardian over 
you — an authority that I used only for your best interests. 
I would have married you to my only son, a youth of spot- 
less moral character, and thus restored you to honor and 
peace, but that you were frightened by a chance resem- 
blance of a living man to a dead one. And now, when I 
would soothe your agitation and support your weakness, 
j’ou turn on me like a tigress, upbraid me with crimes that 
have no existence but in your own injurious suspicions. 
But, Glad3^s 1 for the love I bear the memory of 3^0111- dear 
parents, I will bear with 3^ou yet,’’ said the woman, with a 
fair show of moderation. 

“ Oh, hypocrite !” said Gladys, giving her a withering 
look. 

“ Take care, young lady 1 Remember that you are still 
a minor and my ward. Still under my authority, and in 
my power I” said the lady. 

‘‘ I am not afraid of you, Mrs. Jay 1 You have done the 
very worst to me that you can do I Yes ; you can do no 
worse, even though you were to kill me. By your infamous 
practices upon my nervous system you deprived me of my 
moral and intellectual free agenc3’' and drew me to the 
brink of crime and ruin. Can you do more to me than 
that ? No ! for if yOu were to kill me, you could only de- 
stroy the life of my body ; whereas, by 3"our late horrible 
treatment, you essayed the destruction of my intellect and 
will, which are parts of the soul ! Can you ever do as 
much as that to me again? No; for hear me, Mrs. Jay, 
you will never have the opportunity 1 For from your hand 


343 ‘* 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

/ 

I will never take any thing whatever to eat or drink ! And 
while I stay in 3^our house I will never take any thing to 
eat or to drink that ma^'" by any means be made the vehicle 
of your soul-destroying drugs. Sooner than do so I will 
starve myself to death. Yes, Mrs. Jay, I have the spirit to 
dare death, even the slow and painful death of starvation ! 
but I have not the will to become again the passivej sense- 
less, degraded tool of crime that you would have made me ! 
Perhaps Providence may send me deliverance. I shall 
pray for it. In the meantime, my part is to preserve the 
purity of my intellect and will, even, if necessary, at the 
cost of suffering and death. And so, while I stay with 
you, neither food nor drink, that can possibly be made the 
medium of poison, shall pass m}^ lips, though I famish!” 
said Gladys, closing those pallid lips with the sad firmness 
of a young martyr. 

‘‘You will find that it requires more than courage to 
starve yourself to death. It requires fortitude!” said the 
lady, vindictively. 

But Gladys had “ said her say,” and made no reply. 

“ I suppose I must bear with 3^011 in j^our present mood. 
But do not carry 3^our madness too far, my girl ! lie- 
member, there are such things as as3dums, where the 
phrensy of lunatics is restrained, and where the world 
seldom troubles itself to inquire about them,” said Mrs. 
Llewelhm, turning away. 

In doing so her glances fell upon Ennis ; who had been 
forgotten until this moment. Ennis, who had remained in 
the room through the whole interview, and though only 
half in the confidence of Mrs. Llewell}^, had stood apart 
with open eyes and ears, watching the speakers and drink- 
ing in every word of the conversation. 

“ Why are yon loitering here ?” curtly demanded her 
mistress. 

“ If you please, ma’am, 3^ou never told me to go,” said 
the girl. 


844 THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


“ I tell you now, then !” exclaimed the lady. 

And Ennis left the room. 

Mrs. Llewellyn soon followed, locking the door after her. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

MR. STUKELY ASSERTS HIMSELF. 

Shall T, wasting in despair, 

Die, because a woman’s fair? 

If she undervalues me 

What care I how fair she he? — Raleigh. 

Passing down to the next floor Mrs. Llewellyn saw Mr. 
Stukel}^ in his room, busily engaged in packing his travel- 
ling-trunk. 

“ What now ?” inquired his mother, looking in. 

“ I am going back to the University. I am not going to 
stay here to be made a laughing-stock of I” 

“ What 1 will you forsake Gladys in her present state of 
health ?’’ demanded the lady. 

“ Oh bosh I about her state of health I She's well enough. 
She’s only a-doing of me, that’s all ! And she sha’nt make 
a fool of me again ! not if I know it ! Nor call me an idiot 
a third time neither,” said Mr. Stukely, cramming his wed- 
ding coat into the middle of his trunk. 

“ James Stukely, what tZoyou mean ?” 

“ I mean to go back to college, and I mean to start by 
the night train. Law, mother, I’m not so anxious to marry 
Cousin Gladys 1 It was only to please you and her that I 
ever consented. Catch me consenting again, that’s all ! 
But I thought as long as she was dying in love with me, 
and you was anxious for it, I’d do the handsome thing, and 
I did it I But Lord, as for me, I don’t think Cousin 
Gladys can hold a candle to Nelly Blythe.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


845 


“ To whom cried Mrs. Llewellyn in alarm. 

“ To Nelly Blythe, the young lady that makes my shirts 
at college. If you could only once see her, mother, you 

would My goodness ! what’s the matter ?” cried Mr. 

Stukely, for Mrs. Llew’ellyn, before she had heard his sen- 
tence half out, had dropped breathless into the nearest 
chair. 

“James Stukely, do you mean to kill me ?” she cried, 
almost hysterically. 

“ No ! what made you think so ? I wouldn’t hurt a hair 
of your head, nor let anybody else do it ! I was going to 
tell you something that I thought would please you.” 

“ What was it, then ?” inquired the lady in a faint voice, 
with some feeling of relief and some of curiosity. 

“ Why, seeing you want me married so badly, I was just 
going to tell you what a nice girl Nelly Blythe was, and 
how I could go down there and marry her to-morrow, if I 
like, and Now ! what’s the matter ?” he broke off and ex- 

claimed in consternation, for Mrs. Llewellyn, wdth a cry 
between a howl and a shriek, had clapped her hands to her 
head. 

“ I shall go mad !” she exclaimed. 

“ Extraordinary I What for ? What have I done ? 
There’s no pleasing you, mother!” said Mr. Stukely, drop- 
ping himself down in a corresponding chair. 

“ Mrs. Llewellyn groaned in real anguish of spirit. 

Mr. Stukely sat staring at her, pulling his yellow mous- 
tache and sighing : 

“ Extraordinary 1” 

Suddenly she started uj), rushed at him, seized his arm, 
and shrieked in his ear : 

“James Stukely! If you do make a low marriage, I 
shall — hang myself!” and so saying she flung off his arm. 

Mr. Stukely’s chin fell, his eyebrows rose, his eyes 
started, and his cheeks blanched with horror. 

“ Extraordinary ! — extraordinary ! — extraordinary !” he 


846 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


exclaimed as fast as he could speak. Then finding more 
definite words he stammered : 

“ I — I — I wont do it, mother, if you don’t like it ! It 
was all — all — all to please you ! I thought you wanted 
me married and settled ; and if Cousin Gladys wouldn’t 
have me I knew the young lady that made my shirts, 
Miss Nelly Blythe ” 

“ DonH name her, lest I do something desperate !” cried 
Mrs. Llewellyn, stamping. 

“Weill wont! I wont! I wont! Only, for goodness 
gracious sake, mother, don’t talk about doing any thing 
desperate, especially hanging, the veiy idea of which gives 
me a sort of choking in the throat and fullness in the head ! 
But tell me what will please you, mother, and I’ll do it.” 

“James Stukely unpack that trunk and remain quietly 
where you are, until I settle where we shall go next. Will 
you do this ?” she sharply demanded. 

“Y"es, yes, yes, mother. I’ll do any thing. Goodness 
knows it was all to please 3^011 ! I’d do any thing to please 
3'ou except it was something I considered very wrong, like 
raanying a girl on the s^y, or taking another man’s sweet- 
heart, or something,” said Mr. Stukely, beginning to un- 
pack as fast as he could. 

With this little victory, which she knew might be turned 
into defeat in another hour, Mrs. Llewelljm was forced to 
be contented. 

Glad3^s kept her word. As her fainting fit involved no 
consequent illness, she soon left her bed. But she did not 
resume her recent childish amusements. She never now 
noticed the bright pictures on the walls, nor the Dresden 
china images, nor the stuffed birds. She never even looked 
at the life-like wax doll bab3’'. And even when Ennis 
brought it to her and asked her if she would not take it, she 
blushed faintly, shook her head, and said : 

“All that is past now, Ennis; I have come to myself; 
take the poor toy away.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 847 

When her dinner was brought, she turned away her head 
and utterly refused it. 

“Very well,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, when she heard of it 
■ — “ very well ! after she has fasted a few hours she will re- 
turn to her food.” 

But Mrs. Llewellyn miscalculated the strength of will 
possessed by Gladys. At tea-time she refused her tea and 
toast. 

“ Exactly,” said Mrs. Llewellyn. “ She may be able to 
dispense with her dinner and tea, but she will not be able 
to resist breakfast to-morrow morning.” 

The morning came, however, and Gladys sent away her 
coffee and rolls untasted. Twentj^-four hours’ fast already 
affected her health and strength, and she looked pale and 
moved languidl3^ The second day of abstinence passed. 
On the morning of the third Gladys looked quite haggard ; 
but still she rejected the fragrant coffee, and delicate rolls, 
and luscious broiled partridge that were placed before her, 
to tempt her famished appetite. 

“ Leave it in the room until dinner-time,” said Mrs. 
Llewellyn. 

And her orders were obeyed ; but without effect ; for the 
breakfast stood upon the little table untouched until it 
was replaced by the dinner ; which also remained untouched 
until it was replaced by the supper ; and so passed the 
third day of this black fast with the captive, who chose to 
famish in the sight of food rather than risk being drugged 
to her ruin. 

On the morning of the fifth day Gladys could not rise 
from her bed unassisted. And when once she had slipped 
on her morning-wrapper and sank into her easy-chair, it 
seemed as if she would never be able to leave it again. 

Ennis went and reported the condition of her charge to 
Mrs. Llewellyn, who came to see her, and gazed piteously 
and even angrily upon her wasted face, and hollow cheeks, 
and sunken eyes. 


348 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ So, this is starvation,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, with cold 
cruelty. “It is an interesting case. I never saw one 
of any sort before. And I never heard of a case of volun- 
tarj^ starvation ; though I believe there have been instances 
of compulsory famishing.” 

Gladys neither replied nor looked up at her tormentor. 
She remained reclining back in her chair, with her thin 
hands hanging down, and her blue, pale e3"elids drooping. 

Mrs. Llewellyn stooped, and examined her more closely, 
sa3dng : 

“ There are dark circles around the eyes ; and shadowy 
hollows in the temples and cheeks ; and the lips are blue 
and dry and drawn awa3’^ from the teeth. Interesting pro- 
cess this of starvation, especially when it is entirely volun- 
tary on the part of the subject !” 

To these cruel taunts still Gladys vouchsafed no reph^ 

Then Mrs. Llewell3m spoke more to the purpose : 

“ See here, Glad3^s ! I have given you time to get over 
3'our folly — as much time as was safe — more perhaps — and 
now, if 3’ou do not take food, I shall force it upon 3"0u. 
Will you take it ?” 

“No,” said the victim, without raising her e3’^es or mov- 
ing a muscle. 

“ Ennis, bring me that cup of coffee, and stand ready to 
help me.” 

Ennis obeyed ; and Mrs. Llewellyn arose and went close 
to Glad3’s. 

But Glad3^s raised one of her wan hands, and in a faint 
voice said ; 

“ Keep off, madam, and listen to me : You think that 
3’ou can force food upon me as you could force physic upon 
a child. But you forget that when a child is gagged, and 
pl\ysic forced into its mouth, it swallows only to avoid suf- 
focation. Now gag me, and force food into my mouth, if 
you dare ; and I will suffocate sooner than swallow. Tr3" it. 
It will be for me only a quicker and easier death than that of 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 849 


starvation ; and for you — only one more murder added to 
your list of crimes.” 

“ Yon are the devil !” said the woman, drawing back. 

“ I am a Llewellyn !” said Gladys, proudly ; “ and I 
know how to suffer and to die, too, in a good cause.” 

“You are a lunatic ! But I must find some means of 
making you take food. You shall not commit suicide, 
either slowly or suddenly, while you are under my care.” 

“ Mrs. Llew-ell}^, you know that my object is not to de- 
stroy life, but to save honor. I do not refuse food, but I 
refuse the drugs that are administered through it. While 
you sit here, let Ennis go out and bring me some oysters 
in the shell, and bring them here, and open them in my 
presence, and I will eat them from the shell, free from the 
suspicion of drugs. If you really wish to save my life, 
and I think you do — not from motives of humanity, but 
from those of self-interest, since my death at this time 
could bring you nothing but disappointment — you will do 
as I suggest,” said Gladj^s, calmly. 

Now, of course, Mrs. Llewellyn did wish to preserve 
the life of her ward, since that ward was her only hold 
upon the rich manor and rent-roll of Kader Idris. So she 
turned to her attendant and said : 

“ Ennis, your young lady is insane of course. But it is 
sometimes judicious, as well as merciful, to humor the fan- 
cies of insane people. Go, therefore, and bring the 
oysters, as she requests. Take this purse.” 

“ Thank goodness, she will eat something at last !” mut- 
tered Ennis, whose sjmipathies were more easily aroused 
by a famishing stomach than by a breaking heart. And 
she hurried gladly away upon her errand. 

“ If it were not that I know your own self-interest is the 
best guardian of my feeble life, I should dislike being left 
alone with you, Mrs. Ja}^” said Gladys. 

“ You will repent these insults some day,” replied the 


woman. 


850 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


And these were the only words that passed between the 
jailor and her prisoner until the return of Ennis. 

“ Mr. Stukely is down stairs inquiring for you, ma’am,” 
said the girl, as she entered with a covered basket. 

Mrs. Llewellyn immediately arose, and left the room. 

Ennis almost rushed to the hearth, dropped on her knees, 
wrenched open an oyster, cut it loose, and handed it up to 
Gladys. 

As the poor famished girl seized and swallowed the 
grateful morsel, Ennis drew from the basket a bottle of 
wine, a corkscrew, and a glass, saying: 

“ I don’t know as I did right. Miss Gladys, but here is a 
bottle of old port, as I made bold to buy. Now look at it, 
please, ma’am, and see for yourself it is all right, before I 
draw the cork, so that you may know as nothing has been 
put into this. See, ma’am, here is the seal unbroken, and 
the cobwebs and dust over it all right, as it came from the 
rest ’rant, where I got the oysters.” 

Thank you, thank you, oh, thank you, Ennis ! This is 
all the more pleasing to me from being an unexpected 
kindness. And some day I will reward you for it,” said 
poor Gladys, fervently. 

“ I don’t know as I want any reward. Only don’t tell 
missus,” said Ennis, as she drew the cork and poured out 
a little wine. 

When she had given this, she opened another oyster. 
And then she took from the basket some hard biscuits, 
which she pressed upon Gladys with assurances that they 
were all right, having passed from the hands of the vendor 
into her own. 

Again Gladys thanked her new-found friend, as she re- 
ceived the biscuits. 

Gladys made a very, very moderate meal, for her stomach, 
weakened by her severe fast, would not bear much. But as 
the food was, perhaps, the very best that could be selected 
for one in her condition, it did her the greatest good. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


851 


And after eating she reclined back in her chair, and sank 
into a healthful sleep. 

Ennis hid the wine and biscuits, cleared away the oyster- 
shells, and restored every thing to order before Mrs. Llew'- 
ellyn’s return to the room, 

Gladys slept long and well, and awakened quite refreshed. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

AN HUMBLE FRIEND AT NEED. 

I am not of that harsh and morose temper 

As some proud ones are taxed with ; wlio suppose 

They part from the respect due to their honors 

If they use not such as follow them 

Without distinction of their hearts, as slaves. — Massinger. 

From this time Gladys ceased to fast ; but she restricted 
herself to a very severe regimen — hard biscuits bought 
from the baker ; oysters eaten from the shell ; eggs boiled 
in the shell ; apples ; oranges ; nuts ; and pure water drawn 
from the spout over her own wash-stand. Ennis waited 
on her, bringing her all these things. 

Mrs. Llewellyn did not interfere with this arrangement. 
She bided her time, -waiting for a more favorable opportu- 
nity of once more getting the will as well as the person of 
her captive in her power. 

Ennis was a great help to her young mistress just at 
this time. 

And Gladys fully appreciated the girPs services. 

Holy Writ informs us that there is more joy in heaven 
over one sinner that repenteth than over ninety and nine 
just persons who need no repentance. And our dail}^ ex- 
perience assures ns that the smallest favor from a sup- 
posed enemy makes a deeper impression upon the receiver 


352 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


than does the greatest service 'from a known friend. In 
the one case it is a matter of course and does not surprise 
ns. In the other it is an unexpected event and astonishes 
ns. Thus Gladys felt more grateful to her jailer, Ennis, 
for slight favors rendered during a temporary fit of com- 
punction, than she had ever felt to her faithful servant 
Ailie for the devotion of a life. 

And this gratitude she continually expressed in every 
look and tone when communicating with her attendant. 

Perhaps one of the best elements in a good action is its 
reproductiveness. Thus Ennis having rendered one good 
service to her young mistress, felt disposed to follow it up 
with a second. So one morning, while helping the young 
lad}^ to dress, she said : 

“Miss Glad3"s, if there is any thing in the world that 
you want done, and that I can do, without making missus 
angry and losing 1113^ place, I am willing to do it for 3"Ou.” 

“ Thank you, Ennis, there is one thing to begin with, 
that I wish you to do — to cease calling me Miss Glad3's. 
I am not Miss Gladys, but Mrs. Arthur Powis. I have 
been a wife and mother, and I require to be addressed b}^ 
my married name and title,” she answered, gently. 

Ennis stared a little, but answered : 

“Yes, ma’am, I will remember. Now, ma’am, is there 
any thing else ?” 

“No.” 

“ I was thinking, ma’am, as how, as long as you’ve been 
used to having of your tea and coffee reg’lar all 3"our life, 
it might hurt 3^our health to keep on doing without them. 
And so, ma’am, if 3mu would please to trust me, I could 
make coffee or tea and bring it to you mj^self, so as 3^011 
may be sure as there’ll not be any of that physic in it as 
you are so ’fraid of. Shall I?” 

“ No, Ennis, no, I thank you,” she replied. 

“ I hope you don’t suspicion me, ma’am ?” inquired the 
girl, with a troubled look. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


353 


“No, I do not. But a cup of coffee or tea might be 
drugged in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, while 
your back was turned. You couldn’t keep your eyes al- 
ways upon it, even if you had eyes like Argus all around 
your head. No, Ennis, I must practice a little self-denial 
to save my integrity,” said Gladys, firmly. 

“ Oh, ma’am, do you ralely and truly think as my missus 
would do any thing like that?” inquired the girl, who, as I 
have often said, was only partly in the confidence of her 
emplo3^er, and who never could decide for herself whether 
the fears of Gladys were or were not well-founded. 

“ I would rather not speak of this,” said the young lad}^ 
And the conversation then ceased. 

In proportion as Glad^'S recovered from the effects of 
the drugs that had been administered to her, she grew more 
keenly intelligent upon the subject of her situation and 
more painfull}^ sensitive to its sufferings. 

From the morning upon which she had seen that myste- 
rious workman in the church she cherished a hope that he 
would re-appear and prove to be Arthur Powis. But as 
day followed day without bringing to pass any such event, 
her suspense became agonizing. 

Mrs. Llewellyn did not keep her promise of finding out 
that workman and bringing him to the presence of Gladys 
to convince her of her mistake ; nor did she seek to account 
for the non-fulfilment of that promise. At this period she 
evaded inquiry by avoiding the presence of her captive. 

When Glad^^s could bear the agony of uncertainty' no 
longer, she called Ennis to her presence and said : 

“ Ennis, you oflfered me your services a few days ago. I 
accept them now. Oh, Ennis ! tell me if you have ever seen 
that man who bears so strong a resemblance to my hus- 
band — so strong a resemblance, Ennis, that I cannot help 
believing him to be Lieutenant Powis himself — although 
Mrs. Jay declares him to be only a workman. Say', have 
you seen him, Ennis ?” 

22 


354 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Yes, ma’am, but not lately; not for more than a fort- 
night ; but I have seen him close, and know he is only a 
workman and not Master Arthur,” replied the girl, confi- 
dently. 

‘‘You know this, Ennis ? How should you know it ?” 
inquired Gladys, with surprise and distrust. 

“ Because, ma’am, I found out all about him. For when 
missus first saw him pass the house and noticed of him, 
she was troubled by his likeness to Master Arthur, too.” 

“ Oh I she was ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; and she sent me to ask about him on the 
sly ; and I found out every thing. ” 

* “ What did you find out ?” 

“ I had better begin and tell you all about it, straight 
through,” said the girl. 

“ Do so, Ennis,” answered the 3^oung lad}^ 

And Ennis told the whole story of her researches into 
the life of William Simmons, the stonemason’s laborer. 
At the end of the narrative Glad^^s said : 

“ I think you have told me the truth, as far as ou know 
it; but, Ennis, I am less convinced and more dissatisfied 
than ever. You have lost all traces of him, you say ?” 

“Yes, ma’am — ever since that Saturday night.” 

“ Well then, Ennis, I wish you to do something for me, 
if you can do it without getting yourself into trouble.” * 

“What is it, ma’am?” 

“ I wish you to go to that street where we w'ent on Tues- 
da^q and to a block of half-finished buildings opposite the 
church where I was to have been married, and inquire 
among the workmen there for the man named William 
Simmons. And, if possible, get speech of the man. You 
will then find out for a certainty whether he is really whom 
I suspect him to be. If he is, give him this letter, Ennis, 
and it will bring him to my side in an hour. And, Ennis, 
you shall be revrarded for this good service be^^ond your 
utmost hopes. Can ^’'ou do this ?” 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


855 


“ Yes, ma’am, for I have got to go up in that very part 
of the town on a message for my missus.” 

In an hour from this time the girl went on her double 
errand. 

Gladys passed the interval of her absence in the most 
intolerable suspense. 

It was near sunset when Ennis returned to the house ; 
and it was quite sunset before she got leisure to come to 
Gladys’ room. 

“ Well I well !” breathlessly gasped Gladys, as the girl 
opened the door. 

“ Well, ma’am, here is your letter,” answered Ennis, very 
gravely. 

“You did not see him — or — ^you found him to be not 
whom I hoped ?” 

“ I did not see him ; he — he ” 

“What? what?” 

“ Well, he wasn’t master Arthur Powis, ma’am ; so I 
hope you wont be very much shocked when you hear it ; 
but — but- ” 

“ But — oh, what ? Speak, Ennis, for Heaven’s sake !” ex^ 
claimed Gladys, extremely alarmed by the manner of the girl. 

“Well, ma’am, indeed, it is nothing to disturb you, see- 
ing he wasn’t Mr. Arthur Powis, although it do seem very 
dreadful to happen to any one ” 

“ Oh, Ennis ! can’t you tell me what it is that has hap- 
pened ?” cried Gladys, clasping her hands. 

“ Well, ma’am — but, please, don’t take on, because, in- 
deed, he was truly nothing but a workman. Well, so, when 
I went there and asked about him, the other men all looked 
troubled, and looked at one another, and didn’t answer.” 

The girl paused. 

Gladys said not a word, but her clasped hands and im- 
ploring eyes were more eloquent than words, in entreaty 
for her attendant to go on. 

“ Then,” continued Ennis, “the boss came and asked me 


356 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


if I was any thing to the young man. And I told him no, 
^ nothing at all, only we had used to see him go and 
hadn’t seen him lately-. Oh, then he looked more confident, 
and he told me — he told me that — oh, ma’am don’t be 

shocked ” 

Ennis, Ennis, go on !” 

“ He told me that the ver}^ same day of the marriage that 
was to be, on last Tuesday afternoon, Billy Simmons ” 

“Yes, 3^esl” The clasped hands began to writhe and 
twist, and the imploring ej’es to start and dilate. 

“ Oh, ma’am ! don’t look that-a-way, or I shall never dare 
to tell 3"oii.” 

“ Tell me, or you will kill me !” 

“ Billy Simmons was at work on a scaffolding up before 
the third story, and he made a misstep and — oh I remem- 
ber he wasn’t Master Arthur, indeed he wasn’t — he fell to 
the ground and was instantly killed !” 

“ Oh, Ennis !” 

And Gladys sunk back in her chair and covered her face 
with her hands. 

“ He was’t an3" bod3^ but Billy Simmons, indeed he wasn’t, 
Miss Glad — I mean, Mrs. Powis.” 

Gladys did not reply, nor remove her hands. 

“ I found that out to a dead certainty ; because when I 
asked where they had buried him, they told me that he 
was took home to his mother, who was a widow woman, 
and buried from her house ; but they didn’t know where. 
And no more didn’t they know w^here he lived. But, Miss 
Glad3^s, it all proves that he couldn’t have been Master 
Arthur, as he was so well known to be what he w-as.” 

“ I suppose you are right,” said Gladys, shuddering. 
“And, oh ! I must tiy not to go crazy with all this. Ennis, 
w^hen things of this kind occur they are put in the daily 
papers. Go out to the nearest newspaper agency, and 
bring me all the papers of last Wednesday,” said Gladys, 
trying very hard to compose her agitated nerves. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 857 

Ennis went out and soon returned with the Times 
being the only paper of that date she could procure. 

Gladys seized it, and after a diligent search, she found 
the item she was looking for — a small paragraph of a few 
lines : 

“ Shocking Accident. — A laborer, named William Sim- 
mons, while at work upon the new block of buildings in 
progress opposite St. Asaph’s Church, fell from the scaf- 
folding on the third story, and was instantly killed.’ His 
body was taken home to his mother, a poor widow, residing 
in the neighborhood.” 

That was all. 

Gladys read the item and laid the paper down with a 
sigh of mingled pity and relief, as she said : 

‘‘ Poor man and poor mother ! Well, Ennis, I suppose 
you were right. Indeed I know you were right ; for, if 
this poor man was killed, it proves to me that he could not 
have been Lieutentant Powis. I feel so sure that my hus- 
band still lives I So sure !” 

Gladys was half right and half wrong, and so was Ennis, 
and so were the workmen on the building, and the reporters 
of the newspapers. 

Could Glad^^s have seen a short paragraph in the next 
morning’s — Thursday morning’s paper. It was this : 

“Erratum. — The laborer, William Simmons, stated in our 
issue of yesterday to have met his death by a fall from a 
scaffolding near the top of a block of buildings opposite 
St. Asaph’s Church, was not really killed, as reported, but 
stunned and very badly injured. He is lying in the Bellevue 
Hospital at the point of death.” 

Gladys never saw this paragraph. But more of this in 
future. 

Gladys kept to her regimen of oysters, fruits, nuts, etc. 
And her health did not suffer from the deprivation of her 


858 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


usual beverages. On the contraiy,.as soon as she was re- 
lieved from suspense on the subject of the unfortunate 
workman, her youth and good constitution asserted them- 
selves in her daily improving health. With her returning 
health of mind and body came thoughts of escape from the 
thraldom of her guardian. She knew, when she thought it 
all over, that she could not openly defy Mrs. Llewellyn’s 
authority. She was still a minor, and that lady was her 
guardian. She was a wife, it is true ; but she had no means 
of proving her wifehood while in a state of bondage. To 
prove her marriage, she must first regain her liberty. To 
regain her liberty she must make her escape before the 
family removed to Kader Idris. Day after day Gladys 
pondered over the ways and means of effecting her purpose. 
She had a plenty of ready money, for Mrs. Llewellyn made 
a great virtue of paying her regularly every quarter the 
liberal sum that her father had allowed her for pocket 
money during her minority, or her single life. And she 
had much valuable jewelry, all very portable and easily 
convertible into cash. Altogether, she had enough to es- 
cape upon, and to live decently upon for a few months. 

She determined to try to purchase the help of Ennis. 
One night, when Ennis had assisted her to undress, she 
broached the subject. 

“Ennis, how much does Mrs. Jay give you a month for 
guarding and waiting on me ?” 

“ Fourteen dollars, and many handsome presents of 
shawls, and dresses, and such.” 

“ Whom do you really consider your mistress, Mrs. Jay 
or myself?” 

“ Well, ma’am, she pays me my wages ; but my business 
is to wait on you. So I can’t tell.” 

“Ennis, the only claim you think Mrs. Jay has on you, 
then, is the wages she pays you?” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; I suppose that is about it.” 

“ But suppose you are paid out of my money ?’^ 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


859 


Then, ma’am, if paid out of your money for serving 
you, I must be your servant and not missus’s.” 

“ I should think so, Ennis,” said the young lady, falling 
into thought. Soon she broke the silence again. And it 
was to make a confidante of Ennis. 

It was the misfortune of this poor young lady that in 
her bitter extremity, sequestered as she was from inter- 
course with all other human creatures, and exposed to the 
basest machinations against her sanity, honor, and peace, 
to be obliged to confide her plans to, and beg assistance 
from, this humble instrument. 

So she commenced and related the oft-repeated history 
of her wrongs and sorrows — her parents’ death ; her lover’s 
absence ; her guardian’s treachery ; and then her imprison- 
ment, her escape, her marriage, and her recapture. 

‘‘You know all the rest, Ennis,” she said; “for when I 
was taken to Kader Idris I found 3^ou there.” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“Now, Ennis, the question is. Will you help me to es- 
cape from this cruel captivity, in w'hich I am exposed to 
such constant danger ? I do not wish to bribe you, Ennis. 
Heaven knows I would not willingly bribe any one’s ser- 
vant, even in my extremity. But I do not consider you 
Mrs. Llewell^m’s servant, but mine. I know that what I 
wish you to do is right. But I also know, that by doing 
it you will risk or lose Mrs. Llewellyn’s favor. Therefore, 
Ennis, I tell you, not in bribery, but in justice, that I will 
well remunerate your services — so well, that you shall never 
regret Mrs. Llewellyn.” 

Poor Gladys looked pleadingly up to the face of her 
keeper, who cast her eyes thoughtfully on the floor. 

“ Will 3^ou assist me to escape, Ennis?” ^ 

“ Tell me right out what you want me to do, ma’am. 
And then, if I can’t do it, at least I can hold my tongue 
and not tell Mrs. Llewellyn,” said Ennis. 

Gladys sighed, and then said : 


860 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 

“ I wish you to do simply this. In the dead of night — 
say this night, or to-morrow night, or an}’’ other that we 
may fix upon — I wish you just to open the doors and let 
me out !” 

“ Oh, ma’am, you would be insulted, or robbed, or 
murdered, or something, in this wicked city.” 

“No, for you must have a cab waiting for me around 
the corner.” 

“Where would you go, ma’am?” 

“ Straight to the Washington Railway Station, and sit 
in the cab until the office should be opened, and then I 
would take a ticket for the early train South, and be half 
way to Washington before my cruel enemy should have 
discovered my absence. Will you do this for me, Ennis ?” 

“ Oh ma’am, if I was, and if my missus was to find it 
out, she would turn me out of doors neck and heels I” said 
the girl, with a half willing and half frightened look. 

“ I know she would Ennis, and therefore I propose to 
pay you liberally. Ennis I have saved up fifteen hundred 
dollars from my allowance of pocket money ; because, in 
truth, for the last year I have had few opportunities of 
spending money. I will give you five hundred dollars 
as a guarantee against any loss you may sufier through 
serving me I” 

The eyes of Ennis expanded with surprise and brightened 
with pleasure. 

Gladys saw this and went on to say : 

“Nor is that all Ennis, nor a tithe of what I will do to 
reward you for helping me to regain my liberty. In veiy 
little more than a year from this I shall be of age. I shall 
then be the mistress of Kader Idris and all its vast depend- 
encies with one of the largest private revenues in the 
whole country. I will then take you into my service at 
double your present wages, or I will pay you down a 
thousand dollars as a marriage dower if you wish to 
marry, or capital to begin business upon if you wish to 
keep a shop. Will you assist me, Ennis ?” 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 861 


“ Yes ma’am, I will ; but I dar’n’t stop back here and 
face missus after all’s done. She’d murder me. Can’t you 
take me along with you, ma’am ?” 

“ Oh, yes indeed, Ennis, gladly !” exclaimed her young 
inistress, catching eagerly at the idea. 

“ I have got to go down and get my supper now, ma’am, 
if you please, because missus is awful particular about 
hours in the kitchen.” 

“ I know she is. Yery well, Ennis ! After supper come 
up again and we will talk further of this.” 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

THE ESCAPE OP GLADYS. 

Out of this nettle danger 

I will pluck the flower safety. — SliaJcspeare. 

That night when all the rest of the household were gone 
to bed, Gladys and her attendant sat arranging their plans 
for flight. Ennis begged to stipulate for a day or two to 
smuggle her own wardrobe out of the house and into the 
care of an acquaintance she had picked up in the neighbor- 
hood. And Gladys'unwillingly consented to the delay. For 
herself, she had but little to take away as far as bulk was 
concerned; her monej^ and jewels; a comb and brush; 
and a single change of clothes were all that she required 
for her journey. These were easily packed in a small 
leather bag, that she herself could carry in her hand. The 
escape was arranged to take place on the Friday night fol- 
lowing — ^thus allowing Ennis three whole days to prepare. 
Having settled this, Ennis arose and courtesied, and bade 
her mistress a respectful good-night. 


862 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN". 


So intent Lad Gladys been upon the one point of her 
escape from the house, that she had not cast a glance at any 
thing beyond that. She had at once resolved to go to Wash- 
ington, because she knew Washington better than any other 
place, and also because she had vague hopes that her friends, 
the three old maiden sisters, would protect her, and perhaps 
help her to prove her marriage and secure her liberty ; 
and that they might even possibly be able to give her some 
information about Arthur. She resolved then on going to 
Washington, to go at once to ‘‘ Ceres Cottage,” or as the 
poor old ladies called it, “ Serious Cottage,” and throw 
herself upon their protection. She did not deem it neces- 
sary, however, to confide this part of her plan to her 
servant. 

The interval between this day, Monday and the day of 
flight, Friday, was passed by Gladys in the usual dull rou- 
tine of her restricted life. 

Even her preparations for the journey afforded but little 
variety ; for they occupied less than half an hour. 

Friday came — a splendid autumn day, a very herald of 
freedom and happiness. But it seemed very, very long to 
Gladys. 

In the evening Mrs. Llewellyn surprised her with a visit, 
the first visit that lady had deigned to pay her ward for 
more than a week. 

“Well,” said Gladys, mockingly, “have you come to 
keep your promise and to bring me news of that strange 
workman, whom you assured me that you would seek out 
and bring to my presence ?” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Llewellyn, much to the surprise of 
Gladys. “ I have come to bring you news of that man 
and to set your heart at rest forever, on the subject, I 
hope.” 

And she drew from her pocket the very identical copy 
of the Times that Ennis had purchased for Gladys more 
than a week before, and that had accidentally fallen into 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 863 


the hands of Mrs. Llewellyn. Gladys knew it by a par- 
ticular stain of ink on the corner. 

“ Yes,” continued the lady, “ by the merest chance I 
picked up this paper, which is more than a week old, and 

my eyes were caught by this notice ” And here she 

handed the paper to Gladys and pointed out the paragraph 
falsely relating the death of William Simmons. 

Gladys read it quietly as if she had never seen it before ; 
and then she laid the paper aside. 

“You are satisfied now I hope ?” said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ Quite,” replied Gladys. 

“ I am glad of it. But I did not come here, only to tell 
you of that troublesome fellow’s fate. I came to say that 
we are to start for Kader Idris on Monday.” 

“Very well,” said Gladys. 

“ Shall you be ready ?” 

“ To go to Kader Idris ? I will see.” 

“ Well whether you are ready or not, I start for Kader 
Idris on Monday, and you accompany me. Good-night,” 
said Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ Good-night,” returned Gladys. 

In going out Mrs. Llewellyn met Ennis coming in. 

“ Ennis, you are to have Miss Gladys’ wardrobe packed 
up to go to Kader Idris on Monday morning; do you 
hear ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“Mind you do it.” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

Mrs. Llewellyn was gone and Ennis stood in her place. 

“ I hope and trust that was the very last I shall ever see 
of that evil woman,’' said Gladys, speaking more to herself 
than to her attendant. 

“Now, ma’am,” whispered Ennis, approaching her young 
lady, “ every thing is ready fixed. All my clothes is out 
of the house. And the cab will be at the corner at two 
o’clock after midnight. I thought that was just about the 
deadest hour of the night.” 


864 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Yes, I think so, too.” 

“And now, ma’am, if 3^011 will take my advice, you will 
just go to bed and try to sleep. It is now nine o’clock, 
and 3"ou can get four clear hours of sleep, for I needn’t to 
wake you up before one.” 

“ Sleep ! Oh, Ennis, do you think it would be possible 
for me to sleep on the eve of my escape I” exclaimed 
Gladys, excitedly. 

“ I do suppose not ; but then anyways ^’’ou had better 
undress and go to bed. It will refresh you to lay there at 
3'our ease, and it will ’vent missus from suspicioning any 
thing in case she should take it into her head to make you 
another visit this evening.” 

“ True,” said Gladys, and she immediately followed this 
advice. 

Of course, sleep was out of the question ; but she lay 
there resting and listening to the household pacing about 
on their last rounds before retiring to sleep. 

Ennis came up from her supper at ten o’clock, lowered 
the gas, and seated herself beside her mistress, to watch 
out the long hours before two o’clock. 

“ Do try to go to sleep, ma’am, and I will keep awake 
and wake you up at one o’clock,” urged Ennis. 

“Impossible,” replied her mistress. And Gladys re- 
mained dving there wide awake, listening to the last muffled 
sounds of the retiring household, while her attendant 
nodded in her chair, and repeated at intervals : 

“ Do try to go to sleep, ma’am, and I will keep awake 
and wake you up at two o’clock.” 

But as hour after hour passed by, Ennis sank into deeper 
and deeper slumbers ; starting at longer and longer inter- 
vals with the spasmodic exclamation that became shorter 
and shorter, until at length it was nothing more than : 

“Do tiy — two o’clock!” And at last Ennis fell fast 
asleep, with her head thrown back and her mouth wide 
open for a fly-trap, had there been flies to catch. Ennis 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 865 

must have dreamed that her advice was taken ; for when 
the clock struck ‘‘one,” and Gladys, who had watched out 
all the hours with unwinking eyes, arose and shook the 
sleeper, telling her to wake up, for it was time to get ready 
to go, Ennis yawned, stretched her arms, and exclaimed : 

“ Well, ma’am, you have had a real good refreshing 
sleep, and I am glad of it. For my part, I feel rather tired 
with keeping awake so long, hut I dare say the night air 
will freshen me up I” 

“ No doubt of it,” said Gladys, laughing, for the prospect 
of liberty had greatly raised her spirits. 

They were soon ready, and at precisely a quarter to two 
they turned off the gas, stole from the room, locked the 
door, taking the key with them, and glided softly down the 
stairs. 

These stairs that never had been heard to creak before, 
creaked loudly now beneath their stealthy tread. Patient 
Gladys was almost ready to call down maledictions upon 
them, as they went “ crack, crack, crack,” under her feet. 

And, oh, what ill. luck! presently a door opened, a dim 
light gleamed through the opening, and a voice, half in 
fright and half in defiance, called out : 

“ Who's thatV' 

No one replied. Gladys sank almost fainting into the 
darkest angle of the staircase. 

“ Who's that V' again called out the voice. 

Gladys uttered a half-suppressed cry. 

“ For goodness’ sake, ma’aip, be quiet, and leave it all to 
me,” whispered Ennis. 

Who's that, I say? Now if you don’t answer, whoever 
you are. I’ll fire right into 3^011 1 ” a third time called the 
voice. 

“ Hush, Master James 1 It’s only me,” said Ennis, 
pushing Gladys deeper into the dark nook and standing 
before her. 

“ Well, what are you doing out of your bed this time of 
night ? I thought to be sure it was burglars 1 ” 


366 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 


“ I came down to get a piece of ice to cool a glass of 
water for Miss Gladys — that is all,’’ said the ready-witted 
Ennis. 

“ Oh, well, another time answer sooner or you may get 
into danger. Is Cousin Gladys ill ?” 

“No, she is feverish and thirsty; that is all.” 

Now another door opened and another voice spoke : 

“ What is the matter, James ?” 

It was Mrs. Llewellyn’s voice. 

“Nothing, mother, only Ennis coming down to get some 
ice for Cousin Gladys,” said Mr. Stukely. 

“ Ennis I” called out Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ennis. 

“ What is the matter with Miss Gladys ?” 

“ If you please, ma’am, she is only a little restless and 
feverish and thirsty. I have been sitting with her all night, 
and now I am going down stairs to get her a piece of ice 
to cool her glass of water.” 

“Very well, I will see her myself in the morning. Be 
careful of your light, Ennis.” 

“ If you please, ma’am, I haven’t got any light.” 

“ That is well. That is safest. Go on,” said Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn, closing her door. 

Mr. Stukely followed suit and closed his. 

A few minutes Gladys remained panting in the dark 
corner, until she had got over her fright and recovered her 
breath, and then she glided noiselessly down the stairs, fol- 
lowed as noiselessly by Ennis. 

They gained the street door, passed it safely and locked 
it after them, taking the key with them, as Ennis said : 

“ It wont do for us to leave the house open, for if it 
should be robbed to-night, they would be sure to think it 
was me as robbed it, seeing I have run away.” 

Gladys agreed with her. 

They walked briskly on to the corner of the street where 
the cab was waiting. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 367 


The driver jumped down and opened the door. 

Ennis respectfully helped her young mistress to enter, 
and then followed her in and took the front seat before 
her. 

The driver received his orders, and the cab started at a 
brisk rate for the Washington railway station. 

It was three o’clock when they arrived there. They got 
out, and Ennis paid and dismissed the cab, and conducted 
her mistress into the waiting room. 

The ticket office was not open, and they had two good 
hours to wait in the deserted room before it would be open. 
These hours were passed by Ennis in nodding over the 
rusty stove ; and by her mistress in watching the sleepy 
porters and in waiting for the office to open. 

It was open at five o’clock. Ennis at once took tickets, 
got the baggage checked, and then “ convoyed” her young 
mistress on board the ferry boat. 

At six o’clock they were seated in the cars flying south- 
ward. And the rising sun found them far on their way 
toward Philadelphia. 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

THE fugitive’s SHELTER. 

Long months have seen thee roaming 
A sad and weary way, 

Like ti'avellcr tired at gloaming 
Of a sultry summer’s day. 

But soon a home shall greet thee, 

Though low its portals be, 

And ready kindness meet thee, 

, And peace — Ah ! will it flee? — Percival. 

Gladys arrived in Washington at an early hour of the 
afternoon. She took a hack at once and, accompanied by 
Ennis, drove out to Ceres Cottage. The sun was setting 
as the carriage drew up at the rustic gate. 


868 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


How welcome, how peaceful, how pleasant the old house 
looked! Yes, even pleasant, although it stood among its 
bare trees, whose fallen leaves strewed all the garden 
paths. 

Glad3'^s alighted at the gate and paid and dismissed the 
carriage, and, followed by Ennis, walked up the straight, 
leave-strewn garden path that led to the door. A rudd)", 
leaping and glimmering light, like that emitted by the 
blazing of a wood-fire, shone through the windows of the 
sitting-room on the right-hand side of the front door, and 
added cheerfulness^to the aspect of the scene. 

Gladys knocked — with her fist, for 3'ou remember that 
there was neither knocker nor bell at this rustic entrance ; 
and while she paused for a response she distinctly heard 
Miss Polly exclaim, in a scared whisper : 

“ Lor ! who is that ? Go to the door, Harriet, but be 
sure to ask who is there before you unlock it.” 

And the next moment Gladys heard the woman cau- 
tiously approach, and demand : 

“ Who dar ?” 

“ It is I, Harriet.” 

“IP/io I?” 

“ Why, Harriet, don’t you know my voice ? I am Mrs. 
Powis, who used to lodge here about a 3^ear ago.” 

“Lor, Mrs. Powers, ma’am!” And down w^ent the bar, 
and back went the bolt ; and the key was turned in a trice, 
and there in the open door stood Harriet, glowing with 
welcome ! 

“ Lor, chile ! Come in out’n de cold, hone^^ ! When did 
you arrive ? Who dat wid you ? Your waiting maid ? 
Come in, gal ! — Lor, Miss Polly, if here aint Mrs. Powers ! 
Come in, chillun !” exclaimed Harriet, hustling her ques- 
tions and ejaculations one upon the back of another, as she 
closed the door and bustled Gladys and her maid into the 
bright old sitting-room. 

The three old ladies who were sitting around the fire 
arose in a body, exclaiming simultaneously ; 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 369 

“ Lor ! Mrs. Colonel Pollard, my dear, to think of see- 
ing you here !” 

“ I hope you are as glad to see me as I am to come,” 
said Gladys, faintly smiling. 

“ Oh, yes indeed,” replied the three old ladies together, 
as Miss Polly placed a chair, and made the visitor set 
down ; and Miss Milly untied and removed her bonnet ; 
and Miss Jenny stirred the fire into a blaze. 

But Gladys saw that they were all three “ dying” of curi- 
osity to know what brought her ; how far she had come, 
and how long she meant to stay. 

“ Harriet, bring a candle in here directl}^ — two candles, 
Harriet I and then put the kettle on and fry that chicken, 
and make some nice rice waffles — Mrs. Colonel Pollard al- 
ways relished rice wafiles ; — and then come and set the 
table for tea. You’ll stay to tea, my dear, I hope ?” said 
Miss Polly. 

“Yes, dear Miss Polly, I will stay to tea, and I will stay 
to sleep, too, if you will let me,” replied Gladys. 

“To sleep! Here, Harriet! stop a minute. Now, listen 
— the very first thing you do before you put the kettle on, 
you go and make a good fire in Mrs. Colonel Pollard’s 
room, to air it well. And then go and do the rest I told 
you,” said Miss Polly, anxiously. 

When Harriet had left the room, the three sisters turned 
kindly, questioning glances upon Gladys. 

“ Dear Miss Polly, and dear good friends ! I want to 
stay with you altogether, if you will let me ! You will let 
me, will you not ?” inquired the poor hunted child, in a 
pleading, tearful, tone. 

The three old ladies did not reply — not from unwilling- 
ness to grant her request, but from amazement that it 
should have been made. 

“You will let me stay, will you not ? — I shall not be a 
trouble or an expense to you. I will wait on myself, in- 
deed I will ! And I should say that I am able to pay you 
23 


870 THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 

well — as I certainly will do if I stay ; only I know that 
would be the very last consideration with you. Will you 
let me stay pleaded Gladys, anxiously, earnestly, tear- 
fully. 

“ Why laws, yes, to be sure we will, honey,’^ said Miss 
Polly. And both her sisters chimed in and agreed with 
her. 

“ Surely, you are as welcome as flowers in May. It 
wasn’t no doubt about nothing of that sort as was on our 
minds, only we was a wondering why — why ” 

“ Why I wished to stop at all?” smiled Gladys, And 
oh ! how faint and sad her smile was I 

“Yes, honey, not to deceive you, we was.” 

“ Well, my dear Miss Polly, I will tell you all about it 
to-morrow. It is such a long, dark, sinful story I And I 
am so tired to-night,” pleaded Gladys. 

“Well, honey, you shan’t be bothered to-night. And so 
you shan’t. Soon as ever your room is aired and you get 
your tea, you shall go to bed. Is this young ’oman your 
maid-servant ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is — she — white or black?” inquired Miss Polly, in a 
whisper, as she peered from the corner of her eye at the 
pretty Ennis. 

“ She is a quadroon, which I believe is three quarters 
white and one black,” answered Gladys in a low tone. 

“ Slave or free ?” whispered Miss Polly. 

“ Free.” 

“ Is she to stay with you?” 

“ If you can accommodate her, she will remain with me 
until she can procure another service.” 

“ Oh, she can stay as long as you like, for that matter, 
Mrs. Colonel Pollard.” 

While Miss Polly and Gladys were still talking, Harriet 
came in and set the table for tea, which was soon served. 

After tea Miss Polly took up a candle to show Gladys to 
her room. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 371 


“ But, honey, where is your luggidge V’ she inquired, as 
they passed through the front passage, and she looked 
about her in the expectation of seeing boxes and trunks. 

“We have all that we require there said Glad3"s, point- 
ing to two well-stulfed carpet-bags that Ennis was bringing 
after them. 

Gladys found a cheerful wood-fire in the open fireplace 
and a clean, well-aired bed waiting to receive her. And 
there was a neat and comfortable pallet prepared for Ennis 
in a warm corner. 

Miss Polly bade her young guest a loving good-night 
and left her to repose. 

Left alone, Gladys knelt down and thanked Heaven for 
bringing her safely through her perilous flight to this home 
of peace. And then she went to bed and fell asleep. And 
Ennis followed her example. 

The next morning, after breakfast, when Gladys was 
sittino; alone with the three sisters beside their bright fire 
and well-swept hearth, she told them the oft-repeated story 
of her wrongs. 

The sisters listened, and wept, and wondered. 

“ Well, my heart alwaj^s did misgive me that she was a 
bad one,” said Miss Polly, beginning to snivel. 

And then, notwithstanding the nods, and winks, and 
head-shakings of her two sisters, who did not seem to ap- 
prove of the confession, she made a clean breast of it, and 
told Glad^^s of the wicked part that she, Miss Crane, had 
been beguiled into playing, when she aided and abetted 
Mrs. Jay in her abduction of the young wife of Arthur 
Powis. 

“ But oh, my dear, she was such a fair-spoken woman, 
and she persuaded me as it w^as all for your good ! But 
for all that, I do believe in the bottom of my heart I always 
did misdoubt her — on]y I had no reasons to go upon ! and 
so I didn’t dare to say nothing a^in her. But, anyway, it 
a’most killed me ! After you went aw\ay I was that uneasy 


372 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


about you, you can’t think ! I writ, and writ, and writ to 
Mrs. James Lewis to ask after you, and I directed the let- 
ters so particular to Katy Idyls, and I waited, and waited, 
and waited ; but I never got no answer to none of them. 
And oh ! to think all that time that she was treating you 
so ! And now, honey, what are you going to do ?” 

“ I am going to put advertisements in all the papers 
calling on Arthur Powis to answer ; and offering rewards 
to any one wdio can give authentic intelligence of him. 
That is all that I can do at present. For unless I find 
Arthur, I cannot shake Mrs. Llewellyn in her position as 
my guardian before the expiration of my minority.” 

“Y"es, honey, I think that is very prudent. And if I 
can help you anyways I’ll do it. But that wasn’t exactly 
what I meant when I axed you what you w'as a-going to do. 
I meant what you was a-going to do about me. Was you 
a-going to forgive me, or what ?” whimpered Miss Polly. 

“ Forgive 3^011 ! Dear, dearest old friend — what a word 
to come from 3^our venerable lips ! Forgive 3’ou! Wh3", 

I know that 3"ou love me, and that you did every thing for 
the ver3^ best.” 

“Well, then, and so 3'ou do forgive me?” whimpered 
Miss Poll3^ 

“ Forgive 3^011 1 Why, dearest, best old friend, I thank 
you — I thank you for all your loving kindness, from first 
to last, to a poor, motherless and fatherless girl,” said 
Glad3^s, holding out her hand. 

Miss Polly seized it, and covered it with kisses and tears, 
as she sobbed out the words : 

“ If this aint a-heaping of co-coals of fif-fire on m3^ hea- 
head, I don’t know what is.” 

Gladys kissed her, and went up stairs to put on her bon- 
net and shawl. She was going out to begin that very day 
the work of finding Arthur. 

When she was quite ready to start, she looked into her 
purse to see whether she had money enough to pay for the 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 873 

advertisements. She found hut five dollars in change. 
Thinking this sum insufficient, she went to the carpet-bag 
in which she had deposited the roll of bank-notes which 
formed the bulk of her available funds. She slipped her 
hand to the bottom of the bag, but failed to find the parcel 
of which she was in search. She then took out all the con- 
tents of the bag, but the parcel was not among them. 
Next she searched the other carpet-bag, but with no better 
success. Then she looked about the room, but in vain. Still 
she felt no misgivings on the subject. The parcel was 
somewhere in the room, she thought. So she rang for 
Ennis. 

The girl came running up the stairs. 

“Ennis,” said her mistress, “what have you done with 
that roll of bank-notes that was in the bottom of this car- 
pet-bag 

“ I haven’t done any thing with it, ma’am,” replied the 
girl. 

“ What ! didn’t you unpack it from the bag and put it 
away somewhere?” 

“No, indeed, ma’am. I never opene'd that bag. Every 
thing that we wanted for the night was in the other bag.” 

“ I know that ; but you must have put away that money 
somewhere and forgotten all about it. Try to remember.” 

Ennis assumed a cogitating expression of countenance, 
and seemed to “try to remember,” not, however, with the 
faintest hope of recollecting any thing to the purpose, but 
in deference to the directions of her mistress. Nothing 
came of it, however ; so, after a few moments, Ennis lifted 
her head, and looking her questioner honestly in the face, 
she answered : 

“ It is no use, ma’am ; I can’t remember what I never 
did, for indeed and indeed I never touched that roll of 
money.” 

Gladys looked in her eyes, and saw that she spoke the 
truth. And for the first time since missing the money 
Glad3^s became seriousl}^ uneas}'. 


874 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ Help me to look for it, then, Ennis. It must be about 
here, somewhere, you know.” 

They commenced the search. They looked through both 
carpet-bags again. They shook out all the clothes. Then 
they looked into the bureau-drawers, on the dressing-table, 
in the wardrobe, about the bed ; in short, the}" looked into 
every probable, possible, and impossible place ; and all to 
no purpose — the money could not be found. 

Finally they looked into each other’s faces in the utmost 
dismay. 

“ Has anybody been in the room besides yourself, Ennis?” 
inquired Gladys. 

‘‘ Yes, ma’am ; Harriet, the housewoman, has been here 
to help me make the bed.” 

“Call her.” 

Ennis went down stairs to summon Harriet, and returned 
not only with Harriet, but with the three Miss Cranes, 
w'ho, having heard of the missing money, came up full of 
consternation. 

Harriet, being questioned, declared that she had not 
touched the carpet-bags, nor seen the money. And the 
truth and honesty of Harriet was beyond dispute. 

“ I must have lost the money on the train, then ; though 
how I could have done so passes my comprehension,” said 
Gladys. 

“ How much was it, honey ?” inquired Miss Polly sym- 
pathetically. 

“ Fifteen hundred dollars !” said Gladys, with a sigh. 

Miss Polly started as if she had been shot, reeled back- 
ward, and dropped into the nearest chair, gasping breath- 
lessly : 

“ Fifteen hundred dollars !” It was an inconceivable 
sum ! The loss of it must break half a dozen banks, and 
cause a panic in the money market I Miss Polly had her 
own small savings stored up in the “American Bank.” “ I 
wonder if it will hold out, or whether I hadn’t better draw 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


875 


my money,” she said. And then she covered her head with 
her apron, and hurst into tears, sobbing: “ Fif — ^teen hun — 
dred dol — lars !” 

“ Don’t cry. Miss Polly,” said Gladys, totally missing the 
point of her grief. ‘‘ Don’t cry. After all, the loss of this 
money is only a temporary inconvenience to me. In little 
more than a year, which will soon pass away, I shall come 
into the possession of Kader Idris and its vast revenues, 
when the question of a thousand dollars more or less will 
be a mere trifle. Believe me, I shall not let it trouble me. 
The only difference will be that, instead of leading an idle 
life this year, I shall have to do something to support my- 
self — that is all.” 

And so saying she drew on her gloves, and set out on 
her long walk to the newspaper offices. 


CHAPTER XXXYL 

IREEDOM AND HOPE. 

Oh, Liberty 1 thou goddess, heavenly bright 
Profuse of bliss and teeming with delight ! 

Supernal pleasures in thy presence reign. 

And smiing Plenty leads thy laughing train. — Addison. 

Like the gloom of night retiring, 

Wien in splendor beams the day, 

Hope again my heart inspiring, 

Dcubt and fear shall chase away. — Anon. 


Released from tha paralyzing influence of Mrs. Llewel- 
lyn’s treatment, the mind of Gladys recovered all that 
natural strength and elasticity that misfortune had no 
power to crush and destroy. She saw what was before 
her ; she knev what she ought to do ; and she acted with 
promptitude. She went first to the oflace of the principal 
morning pape*, and inserted two advertisements. The first 
ran thus : 


376 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

‘‘ Lieutenant Arthur Powis. — If these lines should reach 
your eyes, j^ou may hear good news by addressing a note 
to Gr. P., Post-office, till called for.’’ 

The second advertisement set forth that : 

“A Lady, well qualified to teach the common and higher 
branches of an English education, with the French and 
German languages, vocal and instrumental music, and 
drawing and painting, would be happy to meet with an en- 
gagement as governess in a private family, or as assistant 
teacher in a school. A letter addressed to G. P., Post- 
office, till called for, will meet with prompt attention.” 

Gladys would have liked to have added — “ References 
given and required.” But, far away from all her old family 
friends and acquaintances — a stranger in the metropolis, 
a widow in fate and not in fact, and lying under the ban of 
Mrs. Llewellyn’s calumnies — to whom cculd poor Gladys 
possibly refer ? 

She would have liked, also, to have put in a third adver- 
tisement, offering a reward for any information concerning 
Lieutenant Arthur Powis ; and to have inserted all three of 
these advertisements in many other pi-pers, to have given 
them a much wider circulation, and a, much greater pros- 
pect of success. But her funds hadigiven out, or nearly 
so, since she had but two dollars left; (and she felt that she 
could not even spend half a dollar to pay a carriage to take 
her back to Ceres Cottage. I 

However, these limitations to her p^)wer did not depress 
her spirits, which, indeed, had taken a vast rebound from 
the crushing weight of Mrs. Llewellyn’s presence and 
oppressions. To a sensitive being like Gkd^^s the very 
atmosphere of a base and wicked person ha$ a depressing 
and killing power. And the escape from It is like the 
change from death to life. i 

No joyous, wild wood bird, let loose from ijs cage, to fly. 


I 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


377 


singing, toward the sun, was ever gladder to be free than 
Gladys, as she gayly tripped along, that glorious autumn 
morning, toward her suburban home. 

True, she had no clue to Arthur ; but she felt from the 
bottom of her heart so sure that he was still living ; and 
she hoped every thing, for she was now out in the world, 
and FREE to seek him ! 

True, also, she had just lost fifteen hundred dollars ; all 
her available funds ; but what of that ? She was j^oung, 
elastic, and free to work for her living, and she could do 
so until she should come into her estate or find Arthur ; 
and one, or both these events muat happen in little more 
than a year, and might happen sooner. And who could 
not struggle on for one or two 3"ears with such a goal in 
view ? — and being FREE to do so ? 

“ Oh,” said Glad^^s to herself, drawing a deep breath of 
the exhilarating air as she walked through the morning 
sunshine ; “ oh, what a delicious thing it is simply to be 
free ! to go where I please and do what I like, with no one 
to restrain and oppress me. Ah ! from my own short ex- 
perience of an ‘ honorable’ bondage that was so very bitter 
to my soul, I have learned the worth of freedom ! how it is 
the best thing on earth and even in heaven I the most 
glorious gift of God to man ! Even the Lord seems to 
tolerate sin rather than destroy man’s free agency. Oh, 
I understand now how bloody fields have been fought ; how 
whole holocausts of human beings have been offered up ; 
how heroes have struggled and martyrs died for that one 
idea of Freedom ! Once it was only a word, or an abstrac- 
tion to me ; now it is the greatest good in the world ! worth 
all the treasures of blood and tears that have ever been 
poured out to gain it, or ever may be poured forth to re- 
tain it ! And it was worth mj^ twelve months’ bitter bon- 
dage only to learn this practical lesson in the value of 
freedom! For which thank God forever and ever!” ex- 
claimed Gladys, in the exultation of her recovered liberty, 


878 THE BRIDE OF L L K W E L L Y N. 

as she walked briskly through the brown, sunlit fields that 
lay between the populous part of the city and her chosen 
temporary home. 

It was high noon when she opened the old green gate 
and passed up the leaf-strewn path that led to the cottage 
porch. Miss Polly saw her coming and hastened to open 
the door for her, saying : 

“ Come right in our settin’-room, honey ; there’s a good 
fire and a nice luncheon all waiting for you. We got all 
ready for you because we knowed you’d be cold and hun- 
gry after your long walk. Now, come right in,” she re- 
peated, taking Gladys by the arm and drawing her into 
the sitting, or “ settin’ ’’-room, as Miss Polly called it. 

There was the bright wood-fire blazing merrily ; and the 
little round table covered with a white cloth and adorned 
with the best china ; and there was the bright tin coffee- 
pot, and something covered up in a tureen on the hearth; 
and there was the old arm-chair drawn up on one side of 
the table and between it and the chimney-corner ; and last, 
not least, there was Miss Polly and her two sisters ready 
to welcome the young wanderer with all the love of a 
mother and two maiden aunts. 

Miss Milly made her sit down in the chair, and relieved 
her of her bonnet and her shawl. 

Miss Jenny poked up the blazing fire to a still brighter 
blaze. 

And Miss Polly set the coffee-pot and tureen on the 
table, saying: 

“ It’s only coffee and stewed oysters, honey ; but it will 
do you good after your walk. It was so fort ’n ate the 
oysterman come by this way this mornin’. And now what 
are ^’'ou a-crying about ? Has any one hurt your feelings, - 
honey?” inquired Miss Polly, setting down the tureen and 
staring in astonishment at her guest, whose e3'es were fill- 
ing with tears. 

Oil, no, no,” said Gladys, smiling lirightly through 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN-. 879 

those tears — “ oh, no ; but it has been so long since I have 
had such kindness shown me ! such true, tender, genuine 
kindness as yours ! and it makes me think of my poor 
mo — mother,” she added, with a sob. “But — she is in 
heaven, and she watches over me, I know.” She ended 
by dashing the tears from her eyes and smiling again. 

“ Yes, honey, that she do watch over you ! You may 
take your Bible to that ! And who knows but it is her 
spirit a-whispering in our hearts always to be good to her 
child,” said Miss Polly, whose faith was very strong. 

“ And don’t you fret yourself about losing that money, 
though it ralely was a stunnin’ blow ; nor likewise about 
how you’re a-gwine to get along ; for as long as we’ve got 
a roof to kiver our own old heads — which by the mercy of 
the Lord we hope to have all the days of our lives — you’s 
welkim to your own share of it, my child, freely welkim,” 
said Miss Milly, affectionately. 

“ And as long as we’ve got a loaf o’ bread, or a cent 
of money, we is willin’ to divide it with you, honey,” added 
Miss J enny, who felt called upon to bear her testimony to 
her good-will for the desolate girl. 

“ I know it I Oh, I know it so well I And I thank you ! 
Oh, I thank you from the very depths of my heart I Oh, 
dear old friends, take care of yourselves, and try to live 
through a long and green old age ; so that when my own 
prosperous days come again, I may prove myself as good a 
daughter to j^ou as you have proved yourselves mothers to 
me,” said Gladys, with deep emotion. 

And she felt an accession of impatience to come into the 
possession of her property that she might prove her grati- 
tude and love to these kind old ladies in some useful and 
substantial manner. 

The next morning Gladys walked out again. Oh, what 
a privilege and what a pleasure she felt it to be, to be able 
to walk out every day, unhindered in this glorious autum- 
nal weather. She went to the office to get a copy of the 


380 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


morning’s paper, to see if her advertisements were in all 
right. 

Yes ! there the}^ were, hut by some strange chance placed 
one under the other. 

“ They ought to have put the one about Arthur in the 
‘Personal’ column, and the one about the situation in the 
‘Educational’ column. Instead of which they have put 
them both under the head of ‘Wanted.’ I am sorry; for 
any one reading them one after the other, would know 
they came from the same person, because the initials are 
the same, and they might think there was something very 
wrong about the governess who was advertising for a 
young man, especially as she says nothing about refer- 
ences ! Heigh-ho ! I wish I had used different initials in 
the governess advertisement. But it is too late now ! And 
anyway I wont, I wont be downcast. I am free, thank 
Heaven !” exclaimed Gladys. And she hurried blithely on 
down the gay avenue, and through the Capitol grounds, 
and through the burnished fields, until she reached the 
“ Cottage of Peace,” as she mentally named the quiet home 
that had opened its kindly doors to shelter her storm-tossed 
body and soul. 

There the same kindly welcome, the same bright fire, and 
the same little luncheon-table, awaited her. 

“ Only it’s a cup o’ tea and a broiled red herring to-day, 
honey. The oysterman didn’t come round,” said Miss 
Polly. 

“ And if he had, we wouldn’t a p’isoned you out with 
one thing over and over. People likes a change of dishes,” 
observed Miss Milly. 

“And the herring is of our own curing,?’ said Miss 
Jenny. 

When Gladys had delighted the old ladies’ kind hearts 
by doing full justice to the refection they had placed before 
her, she took out the newspaper and showed them the ad- 
vertisements. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


881 


Miss Polly put on her spectacles and read them aloud, 
in a solemn voice, for the edification of her sisters. 

And they listened with folded hands and downcast eyes 
and demure faces, as if they had been hearing prayers or 
exhortations read from their missal. 

“Lori you don’t mean as you put these in, do you, 
honey ?” said Miss Polly, when she had got through. 

“Yes,” said Gladys. 

“ And did you make it all up ?” inquired Miss Milly, 
setting her spectacle^ up over her cap, and looking at 
Gladys. 

“ Of course.” 

“All, out’n your own head?” questioned Miss Jenny, 
doubtfully, stopping with her knitting. 

“Why, certainly,” smiled Gladys. 

Whereupon, the three simple sisters, each in turn, took 
the newspaper and stared at the two advertisements, and 
then all stared at Gladys, as if both she and her produc- 
tions were something wonderful. 

Meanwhile Harriet came in to clear off the luncheon-table. 

“Oh, I say, Harriet, look here! what do you think? 
Mrs. Colonel Pollard has writ something for the paper, and 
it is printed ! It is, indeed !” said Miss Polly. 

“ I always knowed she had a head,” said Miss Milly. 

“ Head it for Harriet, Polly,” put in Miss Jenny. 

Harriet posed herself with her arms crossed and her 
head bent down to listen hecominglj^ 

“ But, oh ! see here,” said Miss Polly, hesitating ; “ we 
ought to call Ennis in. It is a pity to make a bridge over 
her nose, and slight her, even if she is a quad — quad — 
quadruple ” 

Quadroon, Miss Polly,” whispered Gladys, softly. 

“ Thank y’, honey I — if she is a quadruped !” 

Ennis was solemnly summoned and stood by the side of 
Harriet to listen to something very good. 

And Miss Polly adjusted her spectacles, and in a cracked 


882 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


and chanting voice intoned the two advertisements, rather 
than read them. 

“Now, what do you think of that?” demanded Miss 
Polly, triumphantly. 

“ IPs beautiful 1” exclaimed Harriet. 

Ennis said nothing. 

“And she writ it herself; and made it all up ouPn her 
own head, too ; and what do you think of that ?” 

“ It’s astonishing I” said Harriet. 

“ It is,” said Miss Polly, solemnly folding up the paper 
and taking off her spectacles. 

Gladys went every day to the post-office to inquire for 
letters addressed to G. P. She was full of hope, and she 
enjoyed those morning walks, through the brilliant sun- 
shine and exhilarating air, as only a freed captive could en- 
joy them. Several days passed without her getting any 
response to her advertisements. At last it became a little 
depressing to hear at the post-office window, in answer to 
her daily inquiry : 

“Any letters for the initials G. P ?” 

Always the same chilling — 

“ No, miss.” 

For the youthful and even childish style of her beauty 
naturally led all strangers, who were obliged to speak to 
her, to call Gladys by this girlish title. 

But every morning Gladys started out with the same 
buoyant hope ; and though that hope was daily doomed to 
disappointment, yet every noon in returning home, she met 
the same cordial welcome, the same bright fire, and the 
'Same tempting luncheon. And above all, the same ready 
sympathy. 

“ Any letters to-day, honey ?” would be Miss Polly’s 
very first question on meeting her. 

And when day after day she answered : 

“No,” 

Miss Polly lost patience, and indignantly exclaimed : 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 883 

Well, all I can say is, if people don’t answer them 
beautiful things, people’s a fool, and I aint got no pity for 
no such I” 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 

ENTRAPPED. 

Oh ! what a change comes over that young heart, 

Where all was joyous, light and free from carel 
All thoughts of peace do for a time depart. 

And yield to rage and anguish and despair. — Watson. 

Thus doth the ever changing course of things 
Run a perpetual circle, ever turning. 

And that same day that highest glory brings. 

Brings us unto the point of back returning. — Daniel. 

At last on the Saturday of the second week, Gladys 
started for the post-office with her lately ecstatic hopes 
s omewhat reduced by continual disappointment ; yet con- 
soling herself withal, by the reflection that come weal come 
woe she was free I 

When she got to the post-office, and asked the usual 
question, however, the smiling clerk, who had grown 
familiar with the pretty, eager, childish face of the daily 
visitor — put three letters into her hands ! All had come at 
once ! It never rains but it pours, you know I 

Gladys hastily seized them ! She could not wait until 
she had got home, or even until she had left the post-office. 
She hurried up into a corner of the entrance hall ; and she 
tore open the letters one after the other and hastily glanced 
over them; — her first thought, her first hope being that 
they might contain news of Arthur. 

Xo, but they did not I They were all answers to the 
governess advertisement. ’ And Gladys with a sigh of dis- 
appointment, thrust them all into her pocket and hurried 
home, that she might read them there at her leisure. 


384 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


When she entered the cottage, Miss Polly met her as usual. 

“ Come in, hone}^ It’s chocolate and br’iled chicken 
this time I I wont vex you by asking you if you’s got any 
letters ; because I know it aint no use,” said the old lady, 
drawing her guest into the cosy room. 

“ Oh! but I’ve got the letters at last. Miss Polly I” said 
Gladys, as all glowing red from the frosty air without, she 
sat down before the fire, and began to draw off her gloves ; 
while Miss Milly took off her bonnet. 

These poor childless old ladies lavished all their un- 
claimed maternal love upon this bright young creature, who 
had sought their protection. 

“ Letters, honey I” exclaimed the three sisters simulta- 
neously and eagerty, as if the cause had been their own. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Gladys ; ga^dy, “three letters I all 
offering me situations.” 

“ Ah — ha ! people’s coming to their senses, is they ?” said 
Miss Polly, exultingly. 

“ Well now take your chocolate and chicken, honej^, and 
then you ma}'' read them to us,” said Miss Milly, consid- 
erately. 

Gladys obeyed them as she almost always did, with a sort 
of filial affection and reverence. And when she had eaten 
and was satisfied, she took the three letters from her pocket 
and put them on the table, and then she took up the first 
that came to hand and opened and read it. 

It proved to be a letter from a South Carolinian planter, 
who described himself as a widower aged thirt3^-five, with 
one little daughter aged four years ; and who wished a per- 
sonal interview with the advertiser, and promised — should 
that interview prove to be mutually" agreeable — the most 
liberal salary, on condition that the lady would take charge 
of his house, and of the education of his little daughter. 
He required no references and gave none. 

Glade'S paused with the letter in her hand, and her ej^es 
fixed upon it as in perplexed thought. At last she looked 
up and said : 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


885 


“ It appears to me that this is an improper offer. Of 
course I cannot take the situation of governess in the family 
of a widower, where there is no other lady — at least he 
mentions none ! and only a little girl four years of age.” 

In course you can’t, my dear ! Keep house for a single 
gentleman indeed I It is like his impidence to ask it ! 
And his little girl only four year old I That’s rubbish ! 
What do .she want with a gov’ness to teach her the English 
branchers, and French on the harp and that ? — It’s all a 
fetch I She only wants a nuss to keep her hair combed 
and her nose wiped. I wouldn’t even answer his letter, 
honey ! Set him up with it, indeed ! I’d treat that with 
silent corn-tempt !” said Miss Polly, emphatically. 

Let us pass on to the second letter,” said Gladys with 
a deep blush. 

The second letter was of later date, and had come a shorter 
distance. It proved to be from a maiden lady in Mary- 
land, who had three orphan nieces left to her guardianship, 
and who wished to procure for them an accomplished 
teacher, to whom she would be willing to pay a very large 
salary. But she required the most unquestionable testi- 
monials as to the character and ability of the advertiser. 

‘‘ There now ! I think that would suit you to a tee, m 3 " 
dear,” said Miss Polly, briskly. 

‘‘Yes — but — you see, this lady requires testimonials,” 
sighed Gladys. 

“ Testy what’s them, honey ?” 

“ References, Miss Polly.” 

“Deferences? Well, I reckon you’ll give her all the 
deferences she deserves 1 Give and take, you know. If 
she pa 3 "s you resp'ects, 3 "ou’ll pay her respects ! I would 
not let that stand in my way 1 ” 

“ It is not that, Miss Polly, dear ! The lady wants me 
to brincr letters of recommendation.” 

o 

“ Letters of recommendation ? What, from the likes of 
you‘^ Just as if you was a gall going about to hire your- 
24 


^86 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

self out at so much a month, and warranted not to steal 
the tea and sugar I Set her up with it, indeed I Who’s 
she, I wonder ? Can’t be very ’spectable herself to be so 
s’picious of other people I Fling the impident letter inter 
the fire, honey, and let’s hear what’s in the third one I 
There’s always luck in number three, you know,” said Miss 
Polly. 

And her sisters were by no means backward in their 
S3^mpathy, though they were silent listeners. 

Gladys opened the third letter. This one proved to be 
from Dranesville, a village within a few miles of Washing- 
ton, on the south side of the Potomac; and it was dated 
only on the preceding day. 

“ It is singular,” said Gladys, as she read the date, “that 
these three letters, each coming from a difierent point, and 
bearing a difierent date, should have reached me all at once. 
But such things will happen so sometimes, I know.” 

“ Read it, honey,” said Miss Polly. 

Gladys complied. 

The letter purported to be from a wealthy widow lady 
living on a plantation in the neighborhood of Dranesville, 
and having four little girls, between the ages of seven and 
twelve years, whom she wished to educate at home, and 
for whom she was anxious to engage a competent governess. 
As the advertiser appeared to meet her views, she would 
be pleased to conclude an engagement with her. She would 
ofier her three hundred dollars a year, for the first year’s 
salary, and increase the sum as her daughters advanced 
toward the higher branches of their education. If these 
terms should suit the advertiser, the latter would please to 
direct a letter to the respondent, saying at what time it 
would suit her to come to Dranesville, so that the respond- 
ent might send a carriage to the village to meet the adver- 
tiser and bring her to her destination. The letter was 
written upon deep black-bordered paper, and signed Eliza- 
beth Fairbridge. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 887 

Gladys pondered over this letter, holding it in her hand. 

“ Lor’, child! you needn’t think twice about that! That’s 
the place for yoit,” said Miss Polly. 

“I was only thinking,” said Gladys, slowly, “that I 
almost wished the lady had said something about testimo- 
nials.” 

“ Lor’, why ?” 

“ It would have looked better for her own respectability ! 
But I believe that I am very unreasonable, since, certainly 
if she had required them I could not have furnished them. 
I wonder who she is ?” 

“ Lor’, child, w'hy of course she must be one of the Fair- 
bridges of Fairbridge, in that neighborhood.” 

“ You know them ?” 

“ I know of them. They are among the first families 

iVbif; what are you laughing at?” demanded Miss Polly, 
breaking off half in dudgeon, as she met the quizzical smile 
of Gladys. 

“ Not at you, Miss Polly, dear ; I could not afford to do 
that ! But at the F. F. Y’s. I am very glad, however, 
that you know this Mrs. Fairbridge, and can vouch for her 
respectability 1 Ah 1 who will vouch for mine ? I think 
that I will answer this letter and accept the situation,” said 
Gladys. 

“ If you are set to go out teaching, honey, I don’t know 
as you could do better than go there , said Miss Polly. 

Gladys answered the letter that same day, saying that 
she was willing to accept the terms, and was ready to enter 
upon her duties at any time. 

On Tuesday she received an answer to that letter, thank- 
ing her for her promptitude, and saying that the carriage 
of the writer would be at Dranesville on the next Saturday 
afternoon from three o’clock, to meet Mrs. Powis and con- 
vey her to Fairbridge. 

“ There I you see, it is one of the Fairb judges of Fair- 
bridge!” said Miss Polly, exultinglj^ 


388 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Gladys wrote one more letter, saying that she would be 
punctual to the appointed hour. 

And she spent the remainder of the week in making 
preparations for her departure. 

She still haunted the post-oflEice every day. But no 
other answer came to her governess’s advertisement ; and 
none at all came with any news of Arthur Powis. 

“ You will go to the post-office and inquire, Miss Polly. 
And if any letters should come, you will put them in these 
envelopes and send them, will you not ?” asked Gladys, 
putting into the old lady’s hands half a dozen envelopes, 
already directed and stamped. 

“ Oh, yes, honey! I will do any thing in the world you. 
want me to do,” said Miss Polly. 

Gladys had been fortunate in finding a place at service 
for Ennis, who was to enter upon her duties on Thanks- 
giving morning. 

So, when Saturday came, Gladys had nothing to do but 
to take leave of her loving friends. 

She would gladly have forced upon their acceptance 
some presents from her slender stock of clothes ; but they 
would upon no account receive them. They blessed 
Gladys, and wept over her, as she embraced them each in 
turn, before entering the hired carriage that was to convey 
her to the Alexandria boat. 

Gladys went down the river in the nine o’clock boat ; 
reached Alexandria at about ten ; and soon after took her 
seat in the stage-coach that was about to start for Dranes- 
ville. There were two or three farmers and their wives who 
occupied the inside with her, but thej^ were only wa}^ pas- 
sengers, and were set down at various points on the road. 
So that when the stage-coach rolled into the village of 
Dranesville, Gladys was its sole occupant. 

The coach stopped at the village inn, and Glad3'S looked 
around but saw no carriage waiting. There were plenty 
of waiters, hostlers, and loafers, however. And Gladys 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 389 


blushed deeply, and drew her vail over her face as she 
made her way through these and entered the inn. A civil 
servant-woman showed her at once into the parlor, and 
asked her if she would please to have a room, and if she 
would please to have tea ? 

“ No Gladys said she was only waiting for a lady whom 
she expected every moment to meet her. 

The civil servant went away. Gladys glanced at the 
clock. It was not yet three, so thSre was nothing to com- 
plain of 

But Gladys had had no dinner, and she would have been 
very glad indeed to have had some tea ; but ah ! she had 
.no money to pay for it. She, the undisputed heiress of 
millions ! She had spent her last dollar to pay her pas- 
sage to Dranesville. 

But the kind old ladies had not left her utterly unpro- 
vided. So she opened her little travelling-bag, and took 
from it some bread and butter and cold chicken, and 
made a tolerable luncheon, with the help of a glass of 
water from the sideboard that stood in the room. She had 
scarcely put aside the debris of her meal, and wet her 
finger ends, when the servant-woman appeared, inquiring : 

‘‘Are you Mrs. Powis, ma’am?” 

“Yes,” replied Gladys. 

“ Then there’s a lady in a carriage outside as has come 
to meet you.” 

“ Quite right,” said Gladys, rising. 

“ And if you please, m’m, she says, will you excuse her 
from ’lighting, as she is in a great hurry to get home ; and 
will you come out to the carriage at once, if you are read}^” 

“ Certainly,” said Gladys, rising to follow her conductor. 

A handsome dark-green close carriage, drawn by two 
fine-looking gray horses, stood before the house. 

The landlord himself held the door open, and let down 
the steps as the young lady approached. With a deep 
bow, he handed Gladys into the carriage, put up the steps 
and closed the door. And the carriage started — started 


890 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


BO suddenly as to throw Gladys forward into the arms of 
a dark-vailed lady, who was seated opposite, and who 
calmly put her back in her proper seat. 

“I beg your pardon, madam,” said Gladys, in some 
confusion, as she adjusted her disordered dress; “it was 
the suddenness of the start I Have the horses run away ? 
They are going at a tremendous rate.” 

No answer from the vailed lady. 

Gladys suddenly looked across at her. Swift and fatal 
as the thunder-bolt fell a terrible fear on Gladys ! Acting 
on it — acting in desperation, she darted at the woman and 
snatched the vail from her bonnet, revealing — the face of 
Mrs. Llewellyn ! 

The screams of Gladys rent the air, as she dashed her 
hand through the glass side windows of the carriage, in the 
mad hope of escape. But the carriage-doors were locked 
fast ; besides they were in a narrow country road in a thick 
wood some distance from the village, and still driving at a 
tremendous pace. 

A low, mocking laugh met her ears. And the next mo- 
ment a strong woman’s arm was thrown around her shoul- 
ders and she was forced back into her seat, and a handker- 
chief saturated with chloroform was held over her mouth 
and nose. 

Gladys struggled desperately; but all in vain. She 
tried hard to avoid breathing the deadly aroma ; but its 
subtile fumes penetrated to her brain. 

It is said that the eye of the cat who has a poor little 
mouse in her claws, grows and dilates into a vast, horrible 
green firmament, filling all the vision of the victim — all 
that it sees in life — the last that it sees in death. I know 
not if this be so. 

But the last things that poor Glad^^s was conscious of, 
as her senses reeled away from her, to the music of a 
thousand bells, were — the dreadful eyes of her mortal 
foe, glaring down upon her with diabolical malignity 
and triumph. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 391 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE HOD-BEARER. 

But yet he lived — and all too soon 
Recovered from that death-like swoon, 

But scarce to reason — every sense 
Had been o’erstrung by pangs intense, 

And each frail fibre of his brain, 

(As bow-strings when relaxed by rain 
The erring arrows launch aside,) 

Sent forth his thoughts all wild and wide— 
The past a blank — the future black 
With glimpses of a dreary track. 

Like lightning on the desert path 
When midnight storms are mustering wrath, 
lie feared, he felt that something ill 
Lay on his heart so deep and chill. 

All was confused and undefined 
To his all-jarred and wandering mind. 

And madly still in each extreme 
He strove with that convulsive dream. 

For so on him it seemed to break — 

Oh ! must he vainly strive to wake ? — Byron, 


We must return to the morning of Mr. Stukely’s inter- 
rupted nuptials, and take up the story of that troublesome 
hod-bearer, whose improper intrusion into the church had 
sent the bride into a swoon, stopped the progress of the 
marriage ceremony, and thrown the whole company into 
the utmost consternation and disorder. 

At the instant that Gladys screamed and fell, he shrunk 
back, shocked at the effect his appearance had produced. 
And while the spectators were gathering around the fallen 
bride, he made his way through the crowd out of the 
church, and across the street to the building where he and • 
his fellow-laborers were employed, and to which they were 
all now fast gathering to their afternoon work. 

But here his manner, always strange, was now so very 
strange, as to excite the wonder of his companions. In- 
stead of loading his hod, and taking it up the ladder to 
the top of the unfinished wall, where the masons were lay- 
ing bricks, he stood with that hod on his shoulder, and 


392 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


with his eyes fixed on the ground, like one struck with 
catalepsy. 

‘‘ Mortar !” sung out a voice from the highest scaffolding. 

But the hod-bearer, whose duty it was to supply the 
article, did not move. 

''Mortar!'’^ repeated the bricklayer, impatiently, from 
above. 

The hod-bearer stood still. 

“Mor-tar!” again vociferated the mason, angrily, and 
with all the strength of his lungs. 

But the hod-bearer stood like a statue. 

“ Simmons, don’t you hear ? What the mischief’s the 
matter with you ? Are you ’sleep or drunk ?” crossly de- 
manded his fellow-workman, giving him a rough shake. 

The hod-bearer started like one suddenly awakened 
from a deep dream. 

“ Don’t 3'^ou hear ? They want more mortar up there,” 
said his comrade. 

But Simmons, as they called him, only raised his head, 
gazed at the speaker, and passed his hand siowly over his 
forehead. 

“ I do believe 3'ou’re drunk ! I tell 3^011 they are waiting 
for more mortar up there — mortar! mortar! mortar!” — 
shouted the man. ' 

The face of Simmons revealed a gleam of intelligence, 
and he nodded and went to fill his hod. SI0WI3" and dream- 
113’- he filled it, and then as slowly and as dreamily carried 
it up the ladder to the highest scaffolding, two lofty stories 
from the ground. 

“ Wh3^ didn’t 3^ou bring it up before ? I’ll get you dis- 
charged for your negligence,” said the brickla3mr, angrily. 

Simmons did not reply, or even seem to hear ; he had re- 
lapsed into his dream, and stood stock still, staring at his 
feet. 

“ Come, hurry up with another load !” ordered the mason. 

Simmons started mechanically, took up his empt3^ hod, 
and 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


393 


A cry of horror rose from the men below. 

The master-mason turned quickly around. Simmons 
was gone. A single misstep had thrown him over the wall ! 

And on the street below a crowd was gathered around 
his shattered and insensible form. 

Some men raised him in their arms ; some threw water 
on his face ; some forced liquor into his mouth ; but all was 
done in vain. 

Run for a doctor,” said one. 

“No use; he’s as dead as a door nail,” said another. 

“ Go for the coroner,” suggested a third. 

“ Who’s his friends ? They ought to be sent for,” said a 
fourth. ^ 

“ I know who his mother is : she’s Missus Simmons, as 
keeps the ‘ ole do” shop, number five Tilden’s alley,” put 
in a newsboy, who had come into the crowd. 

‘^She ought to be sent for.” 

“And so ought the coroner.” 

“And so ought the doctor ; for, after all, it is the doctor 
that will have*to say whether he is dead or not.” 

Three or four speakers had all spoken at once ; neverthe- 
less they were all heard and understood by some one or 
other ; for three or four men all started, each in a difierent 
direction, to seek the persons whose presence seemed to be 
required. 

“ What is the matter here, my friends ?” inquired a gen- 
tleman, pushing his way through the crowd, and up to the 
side of the aj^parently dead man. 

“ Wh}^, sir, it is one of the workmen, who has just been 
killed by a fall from the scaflTolding,” replied half a dozen 
voices, all speaking at once, in the same or the like words. 

“ Lord bless my soul alive, what a fall ! He must have 
been instantly killed !” exclaimed the gentleman, gazing, 
first up to the scaffolding above, and then down at the 
shattered form below. 

lie was, sir; he never moved, nor even so much as drew 


( 


394 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


his breath, after he struck the pavement/’ said one of the 
men, putting himself forward. 

‘‘ Bless my soul and body ! You saw him fall ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ What was his name ?” inquired the gentleman, drawing 
a note-book and pencil from his pocket. 

“ William Simmons, sir.” 

“ Wife and family ?” laconically asked the gentleman, 
who was writing in his note-book as fast as he could. 

‘‘ No, sir ; only widowed mother, ’round in Tilden’s alley. 
We’re a-going to carry hini there as soon as the cart 
comes.” 

“ Coroner been sent for ?” 

“ Yes, sir ; we’re expecting him every minute.” 

The inquisitive gentleman made a few more inquiries and 
then went off, for he seemed to be in a great hurry. 

He was in fact, the “ local” of one of the morning papers ; 
he was out in search of “ items,” when he happened to pass 
that way and find one ; and so he inserted the paragraph in 
the “ Times , which had been shown to Glacfys to convince 
her that William Simmons was not Arthur Powis and that 
William Simmons was dead. 

The reporter had scarcely left the scene when the mes- 
senger that had been sent for the coroner appeared upon 
it, attended by several policemen. 

The coroner, he said, was holding an inquest at the other 
end of the citj^, and could not come just yet. 

And then, after a short consultation with the police, it 
■was determined that the body of the unfortunate man 
should immediately be carried home to his mother. 

It was accordingly lifted up and placed in a cart, and 
driven to No. 5 Tilden’s alley — a little shop whose doors 
and windows were decorated by dangling dresses and every 
other sort of left-off finery. 

The men who brought the body lifted it out of the cart, 
and passing through a grove of drapery, bore it into the 
house. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 895 

The little woman behind the counter screamed with 
terror at the sight of the body, and sharply demanded to 
know why they brought “ a dead corpe” into her house to 
frighten her to death. 

“ It’s 3 ^our son, mum,” said the policeman who came 
with the party, and who now spoke with more abruptness 
than consideration. 

“ son ! I aint got any here, you big brute ! And if 
I had, was that the way to bring him home to me, without 
a minute’s warning, you monster ? It’s bad enough see- 
ing he’s only a stranger, you hard-hearted wretch you I 
You’ve give me a turn as I sha’nt get over in a month of 
Sundays !” scolded the woman, coming around the counter. 

• The men laid the body gently down upon the floor. 

“Laud sake! why it’s Billy Simmons 1” exclaimed the 
woman, as she looked on. 

“Well, and isn’t your name Mrs. Simmons ?” asked the 
policeman, who was too well used to abuse from her class 
to mind the hard names bestowed upon him by this woman. 

“ Yes ! Poor, poor, dear fellow ! How did it happen ?” 
said the widow, compassionately. 

“ He fell off the scaffolding he was at work on. But see 
here ! You say his name is Billy Simmons and your name 
is Mrs. Simmons, and yet he is not you son?” 

“No more he aint I he’s only a boarder. Oh, poor, poor, 
dear fellow, what a pity ! And he is such a handsome 
young man! And to be cut off so suddenly!” sighed the 
widow, kneeling down beside the body. 

“Not your son! Now how do you make that out, Mrs. 
Simmons ?” persisted the policeman. 

“ I don’t make it out at all ; I tell the truth. He is not ; 
he is only a boarder. And I never saw his living face 
before he came here to board with me about a month ago. 
And I don’t even know whose son he is, or if he is any- 
body’s son — there now ! Ho you think if he was mine I 
could stand here and take this so easy, you big old fool 


896 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN, 

you ? Poor, poor, dear fellow I belike as you liavn’t got a 
living soul as belongs to you though to drop a tear for 
your death,” said the shop woman, alternately snapping at 
the policeman and crooning over the body. 

We are glad the poor young man was not 3^our son, 
indeed,” said one of the workmen, coming forward and 
speaking kindly to the excited woman. “ Very glad that 
he is not; but we were told that he ^(;us.” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Mrs. Simmons, somewhat soothed, 
“ that’s likely enough. A many people do take him to be 
mine, ’cause he do board here and do go by the very same 
identical name. But my son is in Washington city, a- 
working on the government works and a-getting of the 
best of wages, which I expect him home on a visit at 
Christmas. But this poor young fellow, sir ! why he is no 
more kin to me than the man in the moon ! Poor, poor, 
dear fellow ! how dreadful ! And he such a good young 
fellow ! never fell out with his victuals, never once, while 
here he was a-boarding, even on washing-day ! No, you 
never did, 3^011 dear, good boy 1” said the woman, stooping 
over the bod}^ 

Suddenly she started up, half in delight and half in 
terror, exclaiming : 

“ Oh, I say, sir I He aint'dead ! he aint, indeed! He’s 
a-breathing ! he is, ralely 1” 

“What!” 

“ Indeed !” 

“ Is that so ?” 

“Are you sure?” said the men, all speaking at once, as 
they will do when in a state of excitement, as they again 
gathered around the body. 

The widow had spoken truly ; the man was breathing, 
thoRgh still insensible. 

“ He certainly’- is, sure enough, though I’ll take m3" affl- 
davy that there wasn’t a breath left in his body when he 
struck the ground !” said the workman who had seen Sim- 
mons fall 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


897 


“No more there warn’t ; but maybe it was only knocked 
out of him for the time,’^ suggested another. 

“ I guess he was stunned,” observed a third. 

“Any way he is very badly injured, and I am afraid his 
death is only a question of a few hours or minutes. It is 
impossible a man could have fallen from that height and 
not be killed,” said the policeman positively. 

“ Oh, but there is one thing in his favor. He fell smash 
into the mortar, which was soft and must have eased his 
fall,” said the first speaker. 

“Yes, and all this time you stand there gabbling like a 
passed of ganders and letting the man die for the want of 
a doctor I One of- you go right straight olf and fetch one. 
And the rest of you lift the poor fellow up and bring him 
up stairs and lay him on his bed ! And Idl follow as soon 
as I get Lucy up stairs to mind the shop. Lucy ! Lucy I 
I say, come here.” 

A young girl ran up from the basement. 

“ Lucy, you stop here until I come back. And all the 
rest of 3^ou do as I tell you at once, unless you want that 
poor 3’oung man’s death on your consciences.” 

The widow”s orders were all obeyed. 

As soon as Simmons was laid upon his bed, his injuries 
were more closely eixamined. He was horribly mangled, 
but his principal injury was a fracture of the skull of the 
forehead, just where phrenologists place the organ of “ event- 
uality.” 

“ Poor, dear fellow ! He had been hurt in that same 
place before. He had a bad old scar right there, where 
the cut is now, onl}" the way he combed his hair over it hid 
it. How odd it is I I alwa^^s notice when one has had one 
injury, if they ever have another, it is sure to be in the same 
place ! Look, gentlemen !” said Mrs. Simmons, lifting up 
the bright auburn hair and revealing the fracture and the 
old scar. 

Simmons lay there breathing faintly, but giving no sign 
of consciousness. 


398 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Presently the doctor came, examined the man’s injuries ; 
made many inquiries ; heard the whole story ; and then 
said : 

This man must be removed to the hospital ; he has no 
claim on this poor woman, nor can he here receive proper 
attention.” 

This decision gave much satisfaction to the workmen, 
who now dispersed, leaving one of their number to watch 
by the sufferer until he should be taken away from the 
house. 

Late in the same afternoon William Simmons was re- 
moved to a hospital under the care of the sisters of charity. 
He was placed in the ward devoted to casualties, and laid 
upon a whitQ bed, in a pure atmosphere, and attended by 
a skilful surgeon, and by a careful nurse. But little would 
the poor man appreciate all the kindness bestowed on him. 
He lay there quite insensible to all that was passing around, 
and babbling of other times, places, and persons that 
seemed as if they must have been very far removed from 
his personal experience. 

Hospital nurses are too well used to the ravings of de- 
lirium to take much interest in the words of a delirious 
patient ; but there was such “ strange matter” in the ram- 
bling talk of William Simmons, as could not fail to rivet 
the attention of the most hackneyed nurse. His words, 
wild as they were, were those of a gentleman ; his themes, 
disjointed as they were, were the incidents of a gentleman’s 
life. 

In his delirium, he was at college again, spouting Latin 
and Greek, and solving mathematical problems. Then he 
was on a visit to a country-house, babbling of blue moun- 
tains and broad rivers ; of horses and hounds ; of the chase 
and the game ; or, he walked with some fair companion, to 
whom he quoted poetry, and discoursed of love ; or, he 
pressed his suit with some crusty, but kindly old gentle- 
man. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Anon, the scene of his mad imaginings changed. He 
was aboard a ship on the ocean, in a storm, and issuing 
orders with the tone and manner of a naval-officer high in 
command. 

Again the scene changed. He was flying with his be- 
loved — he was married to her — he was with her in some 
home of peace and safety. 

And yet again the scene shifted. He was on the banks 
of a dark-flowing, night-shaded river, engaged in a mortal 
struggle with a murderous foe I And whenever his wan- 
dering mind arrived at this horrible point, he always fell 
into insensibility for a space. 

In all his ramblings he never for an instant approached 
any of the incidents of his workman’s life. They seemed 
to have passed forever from his memory. But he lived 
over and over again, in fancy, the scenes described above. 

The good sisters watched and listened in wonder. 

One morning, while the visiting physician was standing 
with one of them by the bedside of this patient, listening 
to his wild wanderings, she said ; 

“ Doctor, are you quite sure there has been no mistake 
in the identity of this patient ? He cannot be a common 
laboring man.” 

“ Yes he is. Sister Domitia ! I visited him at his own 
home, among his own companions ; and I saw to his re- 
moval here. There is no mistake,” replied the physician.' 

“ But a poor ignorant workman could never talk as this 
man does. Listen to him now ! He is actually speaking 
Spanish, and quoting Camoens. He cannot be a common 
laborer — he must be an accomplished gentleman,” said 
Sister Domitia, who was herself a most accomplished gen- 
%\Qwoman, who had left a high social position for this hum- 
ble sphere of usefulness.” 

The doctor smiled and shrugged his shoulders, as he an- 
swered : 

“ You are sufficiently well read sister Domitia to be 


400 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


aware that in tliese cerebral cases, there are sometimes 
phenomena that utterly baffle medical science and skill. 
We are not perfect masters of physiology ; but psychol- 
ogy completely eludes us. We shall see that this man 
when he recovers, if he ever does recover, will return to 
his normal style of conversation.” 

‘‘I will never believe,” said the sister, “that brain fever 
and delirium can so inform an illiterate man, as to enable 
him to quote Beranger, Camoens, and Goethe in their 
original French, Spanish, and German.” 

“ He may have been the servant of some student or pro- 
fessor, and heard those authors quoted ; and now he may 
remember and repeat them, parrot-like, without under- 
standing one word of their meaning.” 

“ Doctor, that is very far-fetched !” 

“ I^ot at all. I have known things quite as strange as 
that to happen in brain fers^er. But now I must ‘move on,’ 
as the policemen say. Continue the treatment as before, 
Sister Domitia. I will see the patient again this afternoon. 
Good-morning.” 

The doctor passed on to his other patients. 

But Sister Domitia was not satisfied. The more she 
thought about it, the surer she felt that William Simmons 
was no common workman. The interest and curiosity she 
felt about him induced her to set on foot the most diligent 
inquiries into his antecedents. And her position as a sister 
of charity and a hospital nurse, and her extensive acquaint- 
ance among the working and suffering classes, enabled her 
to do this with eveiy prospect of success. But the most 
thorough investigation brought her but this result : 

That William Simmons was really a stonemason’s laborer, 
who had been known about New York, for at least a j^ear 
past ; and that he was not only a very ignorant, but a very 
stupid man. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 401 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE DEAD ALIVE. 

And scenes long past of joy and pain 

Come wildering through his waking brain. — Scott. 

Another change came over the patient. He no longer 
drew brilliant pictures of the scenes in a past or an imaginary 
life. He ceased to speak, and he fell into a deep trance- 
coma that lasted several days. During these days life was 
sustained in him by the administration of wine-whey in 
teaspoonfuls, which he swallowed instinctively and uncon- 
sciously, without ever opening his eyes. But that in this 
deep trance a recuperative process was silently going on, 
soon became apparent. 

One quiet night, when the visiting physician had made 
his rounds and departed, and the few patients were all 
asleep, and the ward was in perfect order and stillness, the 
hod-bearer calmly opened his eyes and turned them right 
and left upon the long line of little white beds, of which his 
own was one. Some few minutes he looked thus about him, 
as with serene interest, and then, in a soft voice, murmured : 

“ This looks like an hospital ward or a school dormitory. 
I wonder how I came here 

Sister Domitia, who was sitting by his bed, bent over 
him, but did not speak. 

“ Where am I, ma’am, and how came I here he in- 
quired, in a weak voice. 

“ You are in St. Asaph’s Hospital, and' you were brought 
here by the direction of the board,” answered the sister, 
gently. Silence ensued for a little while, and then the man 
inquired : 

“ Why was I brought here ? What had happened ? I 
don’t quite recollect.” 

“You had a bad fall and was seriously injured.” 

25 X 


402 THE BRIDE OF^LLEWELLYN. 

The man said no more at the time, but fell into deep 
thought. Presently he exclaimed : 

“ Oh, yes ; I know now ! Was the man arrested 

“ What man, my friend 

“ The deaf and dumb negro. It was he who felled me.’’ 

“ I do not know any thing about this,” said the sister. 
“Wandering again,” she muttered to herself, as she poured 
out some liquid in a glass and placed it to the lips of 
the man. 

He drank and fell asleep. 

The nurse who was to relieve Sister Domitia came ; but 
the latter said : 

“ You can go to rest. I prefer to watch by this patient 
the whole night.” 

So the nurse went away and Sister Domitia kept her 
place. 

About midnight she heard her patient move and sigh. 
She stooped over him. 

“ Has my wife been sent for ?” he inquired. 

Sister Domitia hesitated. In truth, she knew not how 
to answer, since, if all was true that had been told her of 
him, he certainly had never had a wife. But as the eyes 
of the sick man still conntiued the question that his lips had 
spoken, she answered : 

“No.” 

“ It was well not to send for her. It would have shocked 
her too severely. But now I should think she might 
come.” 

“ I will speak to the doctor about it,” answered the 
sister, as she administered another draught. 

He drank it and fell into another sleep. 

It was dawn when he awoke again. The patient sister 
still sitting by his side heard him stir, and leaned over him, 
and softl}^ inquired : 

“ How do you feel ?” 

“ Well enough, except for this weakness and tremulous- 
ness I suppose I was stunned by the blow ?” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 403 

^‘Yes.’’ 

“ And quite insensible when brought here ' 

“Quite.’' 

“ Let me see — how many hours have I been here ? — I 
know it had struck four bells just before I left the ship 
yesterday ” 

“ Oh, dear I” murmured the sister to herself. “ The 
doctor was right ; the man’s brain is permanentl}?^ injured.” 

“And it was nearly dark when I was passing^long where 
Bennett’s bridge crosses the Anacostia. It must have 
been six o’clock when I was struck down by that assassin. 
What o’clock is it now, ma’am ?” 

“ It is about five.” 

“ Then I have been here eleven hours. Have I not, 
sister ?” 

“ More than that,” evasively replied the sister. 

“And my wife was not informed ? I am glad of that ; 
3^et how anxious she must have been at m}^ not returning 
all night ; but perhaps not. I dare say she supposed me 
to be on duty on my ship. But she must be sent for this 
morning, nurse.” 

“ I will speak to the doctor about it,” said the sister, 
who was a much too experienced nurse to contradict 
what she supposed to be the harmless illusions of a sick 
brain. She was almost worn out with watching, 3"et she 
determined to keep her place until the doctor should 
come. 

The patient also seemed wearied with the few words he 
had spoken, and he subsided into silence. 

Hay brightened, and the watchers of the night gave 
place to the attendants of the morning. The patients and 
the beds were made tidy, and the ward was put into perfect 
order by the time for the doctors’ round. They came in 
due time. And the physician "who had special charge of 
this case came up to the bedside. 

“ How is Simmons this morning?” he asked. 


404 THE BRIDE OF 'LLEWELLYN. 


“ He has recovered his consciousness, but he still rambles 
a great deal in his talk,’’ replied the sister. 

“Ah ! — I will speak to him. How are you this morning, 
Simmons ?” inquired the doctor, in a hearty voice, as he 
bent over the hod-bearer. 

“ Better, I think ; thank you, ' sir. But you mistake. 
My name is not Simmons,” replied the man. 

“ Is it not so ? Well, no matter, you will tell me what it 
is,” said the doctor, good-humoredly. 

“ It is Powis. I am Lieutenant Arthur Powis, of the 
frigate Neptune, stationed at the navy yard.” 

“Just so. Well, we will soon get you up again, ready 
for duty.” 

“ Doctor,” said the sick man, “ I am very anxious to be 
taken home. Can I be removed to day?” 

“ WhjT-, no, not with safety to yourself” 

“ How soon, then, do you think?” 

“ Oh, in the course of a few days, or a week.” 

“ Not before ?” 

“ Scarcely. You must be patient, you know.” 

“ I will endeavor to be. But, as I must stay here so long, 
I wish my wife sent for at once.” 

“Ah ! — then you have a wife ?” said the doctor, in some 
little surprise ; for he had. believed the man to be quite 
alone in the world. 

“Ah, yes ; I have a wife. And I fear she is suffering the 
utmost anxiety. Last night w^as the first night I ever 
passed away from her,” said the sick man, with a deep sigh. 

'“ ‘ Last night — was the first night — j-ou ever passed 
away from her,’ ” repeated the doctor, with a puzzled look. 

But Sister Domitia caught his eye and shook her head at 
him, as much as to say, “ you must remember that he is not 
in his right senses yet.” 

“ Yes, doctor, the very first and only one. And she is 
but a young creature. I wish some discreet messenger 
sent to her, who will not alarm her, but will gently break 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 405 


to her the news of my injury. Let the ruessenger take a 
carriage and bring her back in it. I will pay for it, of 
course, as well as for all the trouble I have caused,’’ said 
the man. 

The doctor, more puzzled than before, looked up into 
the face of Sister Domitia for an explanation of this rigma- 
role. But the sister only shook her head at him, and the 
doctor was not ver}^ quick in interpreting pantomime. 

“ I will give you the address of my wife, if you will be so 
good as to take it down : Mrs. Arthur Powis, at Miss 
Crane’s, Ceres Cottage, Capitol Hill.” 

“ Capitol Hill ! Where is that ?” slowly inquired the 
perplexed physician. 

“ Now, is it possible you do not know where Capitol Hill 
is ? I thought there was not a creature in this city that 
didn’t know that ! The messenger will, at least.” 

Again the doctor looked up at the sister for an explana- 
tion. And as the sick man turned his face to the wall, she 
whispered : 

“ Doctor, he thinks that he is in Washington City. He 
is talking of the Capitol Hill there.” 

“ Oh I aye, certainly I I know where the Capitol Hill is I 
And so your wife is there ?” said the doctor, cheerfully ad- 
dressing his patient. 

‘‘ Yes ; will you please take the address down and send 
the messenger ?” 

‘‘ Certainly,” said the doctor, taking out a blank card 
and a pencil from his pocket, and making a pretence of 
writing. 

“You will send it at once, I hope ?” said the man, impa- 
tiently. 

“ Oh, of course !” replied the physician, heartily, as he 
returned the card to his pocket. Then he drew out another 
slip of paper, wrote a prescription, and put it in the hands 
of the sister, saying ; 

“ Give him one of these powders every two hours until I 


406 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

see him again. Keep the ice to his head and hot bricks to 
his feet.” And he passed on to his other patients. 

The sick man followed the doctor with his eyes until he 
had left the room, and then turning those sad eyes on the 
sister, he inquired : 

“ Do you really think he will remember to . send for my 
wife at once ?” 

“ He will do the very best he can, no doubt,” replied the 
nurse. 

The man sighed deeply and turned his face to the wall, 
and seemed to fall into perplexing thought. 

The sister gave him his medicine, and then left him in 
charge of another nurse, while she retired to take her so 
much needed rest. 

The man lay quietly for about an hour. And then he said : 

“ If the doctor kept his promise it is high time for my 
wife to be here.” 

“ Did the doctor promise to send for your wife ?” in- 
quired Sister Paula, the second nurse. 

‘‘ Yes, he did.” 

“Then make yourself easy. He will do it,” said the 
sister, who really knew nothing of the matter. 

The man was quieted for a little time ; but to make him- 
self easy for another hour seemed impossible. With the 
impatience of illness, he harassed his nurse all that day 
with inquiries of whether his wife had really been sent for. 
Toward evening, however, he yielded to the influence of 
the composing powders that had been regularly admin- 
istered to him through the day, and he fell into a deep 
sleep that lasted all night. 

Early the next morning, before he awoke. Sister Domitia 
resumed her watch beside him. He found her there when 
he opened his eyes. 

“ Sister, has my wife come ?” w^s his first inquiry, given 
in the most anxious tone. 

“Not yet,” she gently answered. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 407 

“ Oh ! why is this ? What has happened he demanded. 

“ Nothing ; really nothing, that we know of. The doctor 
will be here presently ; and I hope he will be able to give 
you some satisfaction,’’ said the sister, in a soothing voice. 

And in fact at that very moment the doctor entered the 
ward. 

The poor man watched him with eagerness as he passed 
slowly up the long line of little beds, stopping at every one 
that was occupied. He could scarcely restrain his impa- 
tience until the doctor came up to his own bedside. 

“ Well, Simmons, how do you find yourself this morn- 
ing ?” he cordially inquired. 

The man stared and frowned, and then answered : 

“ I told you, doctor, that my name is not Simmons. It 
is Arthur Powis.” 

“Oh! haven’t you got that out of you head yet?” said 
the physician, smilingly, as he laid his hand on the pa- 
tient’s forehead. 

“ Did you send for my wife, doctor ?” anxiously inquired 
the man. 

“ What ! not got that out of your head, either ? Come, 
come, you must try to get rid of these fancies,” said the 
physician, kindly. 

The man frowned more darkly than before, as he said : 

“ Doctor, it is you who have some erroneous fancies that 
I must request you to get rid of. You mistake me for 
somebody else. I suspected as much yesterday. Now I 
know it. I do not know how the mistake originated. 
Perhaps there were other casualty cases beside mine, 
brought in night before last, and in the confusion I have 
been misnamed.” 

“ My dear good fellow, there is never any confusion in 
the reception of patients,” smiled the doctor. 

I don’t know how that may be, but I do know that you 
have made a great mistake in my case. My name is not 
Simmons. And neither do I know any one of that name. 


408 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


My name is Arthur Powis. I am a lieutenant in the navy 
and attached to the ship Neptune, now lying at the navy 
yard. Night before last, as I was returning from my ship 
to my home, along that lonely road by the river, I dis- 
covered that I was dogged by an ill-looking man. I 
turned to confront the fellow, and had just time to recog- 
nize a deaf and dumb negro monster, belonging to my 
wife’s guardian, when I was struck down by a loaded 
bludgeon held in his hand. A crushing blow, a general 
illumination, and then darkness and nothingness. That is 
all I remember. I knew no more until I came to myself 
here. But I have a wife living, as I told you, on the Capi- 
tol Hill, about a mile from here. She is no doubt suffering 
great anxiety, for I have now been absent from her for 
two days and nights. She ought to have been sent for 
yesterday. She really must be sent for to-day.” 

The doctor stared and wondered. Was it possible that 
there had been any mistake ? No ; for he himself had seen 
this man whom eveiybody called Bill Simmons w^hen he 
was first hurt, and he had not lost sight of him since. No ; 
there was no mistake on his part. This was only a new, 
singular, and very interesting phase of insanity, he thought. 
And he w^ould study it, he resolved. With this purpose 
he inquired : 

Simmons, where do you suppose yourself to be now ?” 

“ Oh ! I know very w'ell where I am. I am in the Wash- 
ington Hospital, near the City Hall. And my wife is 
about a mile from this place. She can be brought in half 
an hour.” 

“ Simmons, what month is this that we are in ?” 

V “You still think me out of my head? How strange I 
Well, I will convince you that I am not. I will give you 
the day of the week, the month and the year, although it 
is but two days since I had my head broken. It was on 
Sunday, the fifteenth of October, that I had that murderous 
attack made on me. And this is Tuesdajq the seventeenth 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


409 


of October, in the year eighteen hundred and ” here 

he named the preceding 5mar. 

“Now, Simmons,” said the doctor, very gravely, “look 
at me. Do I look like a man who would cruelly deceive a 
patient ?” 

“ No, doctor, you do not.” 

“ Then listen to me : All that you have told me exists 
but in your own imagination. Your name is William Sim- 
mons. You were a hod-man before you were injured. You 
received that injury by a fall while you were at work on the 
top of a house opposite St. Asaph’s Church. And this place 
is the city of New York. And the time is November, eigh- 
teen hundred and ” the doctor named the current 3mar, 

The sick man looked and listened with the most acute 
and painful attention. And as the doctor finished his 
statement a look of agon}^ passed over the brow of the 
patient, who threw his hands up to his face and burst into 
tears, exclaiming: 

“ Then I am mad !” 

And he turned his face to the wall and wept in the 
strong anguish of a man’s despair ; but he spoke no more. 

The doctor gave the nurse a few whispered directions, 
and passed on to his other charges. 

What was the mysteiy of this man’s life ? 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE MYSTERY OP A LOST IDENTITY. 

My pulse .“is yours doth temperately keep time, 

And make as healthful music. It is not madness 
That I have uttered : bring me to the test, 

And I the matter will reword, Avhich madness 
Would gambol from. — Shakspeare. 


“Take comfort,” said the Sister Domitia, gently bend- 
ing over the suffering man ; “ do take comfort ; you are 


410 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 


already much better than you have been ; and you will 
soon be well in mind as well as in body.” 

“ Don’t speak to me. Pray don’t speak to me. You 
are very good, and I thank you very much. Only do not 
speak to me just yet. Let me try to grope my way 
through this mental obscurity if I can,” said the sick man, 
pressing his hands to his temples, and drawing his brows 
together as with a painful etfort to collect his thoughts. 

The sister straightened his quilt, smoothed his pillow, 
and then, with a deep sigh of compassion, turned away to 
attend upon some of her other charges. 

She was gone more than two hours ; yet when she re- 
turned she found the man lying in precisely the same 
attitude, with his hands clasping his head, and his forehead 
drawn into a frown as with intense study. The sister 
stooped over him anxiously and inquired ; 

“ Will you let me speak to you now, Simmons, and ask 
you how you feel ?” 

“ Thank 3^011, my kind nurse. I have been tr3dng to see 
my way out of this dense darkness, and I think I shall do 
it,” answ^ered the man, gravely. 

“ There is no doubt that you will. There is a much 
calmer and clearer expression in 3'our eyes now, Sim- 
mons.” 

“ Is there ? But dear sister, pray do not call me 
Simmons. That really is not my name. And neither am 
I the maniac, nor the mo?7 o-maniac, that 3^ou and the doc- 
tor suppose me to be.” 

“Never mind about that now. Don’t excite yourself 
over it.” 

“ Yes, but I must mind about it. And get 3^011 and the 
doctor to mind, too. I have been thinking very intently. 
And I know what I am about to say to be the truth, strange 
as it may appear to 3^ou ; yet not more strange to 3^011 than 
what you state appears to me. I am not Simmons, the 
hod-bearer, but Arthur Powis, an officer in the nav3^” 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 411 


“ Well, well, let it be so ; only do not talk about it and 
trouble yourself over it,’’ said the sister, soothingly. 

“ I tell you I must, sister ; and you must listen ; for you 
must be convinced. I am Lieutenant Powis. I have the 
clearest memory of all the persons, places, scenes, and 
events of my life, from my earliest childhood, on through 
boyhood, youth and manhood, up to that dark night when 
I was struck down by the negro — that fifteenth of October 
which you say passed more than twelve months ago. 
Since that night I remember nothing, until I find myself 
in this hospital. If what you tell me is true, which I sup- 
pose it to be, then there is a whole year totally obliterated 
from my memory — utterly lost out of my life. There is 
the great mystery. Sister, help me to solve it by telling 
me all that you know concerning me during the past year 
— the lost year of my life.” 

“ Poor fellow, I will tell you, in the hope that what I 
say will do you some good. But pray, ^u^ay do not agitate 
yourself over it,” said the nurse, gently. 

“ Take hold of my wrist and keep your finger on my 
pulse while you speak. And then you will know for your- 
self how quiet I will be.” 

The sister did in all things as the man requested. First 
of all, with her hand upon his pulse and her eyes watching 
his countenance, she told how strangely through his fever 
and his delirium he had raved of a life that did not seem 
ever to have been his. And how these strange ravings so 
stimulated her curiosity and excited her interest in him 
that she had caused diligent inquiry to be made into his 
antecedents ; but that she had been able to trace his life 
back no further than one year, or something less ; that 
during that period he had been employed as a stonemason’s 
laborer under one contractor ; but that he had lodged with 
various poor people, always changing his lodging-house so 
as to follow and be near the scene of his daily labor ; and 
that he had last lived at the house of a Widow Simmons, 
an old clothes vender in Tilden’s Alley. 


412 THE BHIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

While the sister spoke the man listened attentively with 
corrugated brows and eager e3'es, 3^et with a tolerably calm 
pulse. When she made the last statement he said : 

“ And that was the reason, I suppose, why they called 
me William Simmons 

“ No; you had been known by that name many months, 
before; — in fact, ever since 3"Ou had lived in New York,’^ 
said the sister. And then she fell into silence, as if she 
either could not or would not tell him any more. 

‘‘ Go on, dear nurse ! What were my habits during that 
time 

“ Industrious, temperate, regular — in fact, almost irre- 
proachable,” replied the sister, slowly. Then she added, 
suddenly, as if spurred by a conscientious regard for truth 
— “ except ” And then she paused again. 

‘ Except’ what, dear nurse ?” 

“ Why, a singular habit that you had of stopping before 
a certain brown stcftie palace, and standing there with the 
hod on your shoulders and staring up into the windows of 
a young lady’s chamber. This habit, harmless in itself, 
appears to have given great annoyance to the highl3" re- 
spectable famil3^ that occupied the house, as well as to your 
emplo3mr, who often deducted a half-day’s wages from you 
on account of lost time ; and to 3'Our landlad3’', who would 
let your meals grow cold to punish 3’'ou for keeping them 
waiting ; for, you see, you always stopped, in going to and 
from 3'^our work or your meals, to stare at those windows.” 

As the sister continued to speak the man’s face assumed 
an expression of intense and almost agonized study. As 
she ended, he suddenly started, snatched his hand from her 
hold, and, with a wild light shining in his e3^es, exclaimed : 

“I stood before that house to listen — to listen to a — a 
sweet, invisible songstress I Was it not so ?” 

“ Yes, yes ; you remember so much, then ? I am so glad ! 
You are certainly on the way to recovery,” replied the 
sister, joyfully. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN;. 413 

The strange man slowly raised his hands to his forehead 
and clasped it tightly, while he sadly shook his head and 
answered : 

No, no ; it has gone ! quite gone I Only while you 
spoke the vision passed before me, like the reflection of 
something felt, or seen, or done, in a dream.’’ 

“ What vision so passed, brother?” 

“ The vision of myself, dressed as a poor laborer, with a 
hod on my shoulders, standing before a grand house, gaz- 
ing up into high windows, and listening to a voice that 
sounded like hers ; — or, rather, dreaming that I did all this, 
and trying vainly to call out or to wake — but there ! It 
has gone again !” sighed the man, in despair. 

“You had better rest now, and not talk any more just 
yet,” said Sister Domitia, gently. 

“I will obe}" you, kind nurse; I will not talk'since you 
wish me to be silent. But — I must listen ! Tell me some- 
thing more of this strange hodman, who seems to have 
been my transformed or dreaming self, sister.” 

“ I will, if you continue quiet ; but otherwise I must be 
silent. Well, on the morning of the daj^ upon which you 
received the injury that brought you here, you met with a 
strange adventure ” The sister paused. 

“Yes, well ? I am quiet, you see !” impatiently ex- 
claimed the man, trying to conceal his agitation. 

“ Well, there was a wedding at St. Asaph’s church, op- 
posite the block of buildings upon which you were at work. 
It was noon, I believe ; or, at any rate, the workmen 
ceased their work to cross the street and gather around the 
church to see the wedding-party pass. But it appears that 
you, led on by some strange attraction, actually pushed 
your way into the church ; and — just as you were, in your 
workman’s dress, with your hod on your shoulder — you 
positively forced 3^our way through all the company, up 
the middle aisle, and to the very presence of the bride, 
who, on seeing you, screamed, and fell into a fainting-fit — 
which, of course, stopped the marriage.” 


414 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Oh, Heaven of heavens ! I see it now ! I see it all 
now!’’ cried the man, in a voice of extreme anguish. 

“ What I what ?” inquired the sister. 

♦ “ The vision I the dream 1 the nightmare ! in which I 
seemed to be a poor workman, in coarse clothing, with the 
weight of a heavy hod on my shoulders, standing in a 
church with a fashionable company witnessing her mar- 
riage — and trying in vain to awake, or to cry out I” 

“ That was not a dream ; that was a reality !” 

“ But to me it seems to have been a nightmare — an hour 
of unreal pain and danger ; for I cannot connect it by any 
regular links of memory with any of my past life ! Those 
two visions, or nightmares — before the brown stone man- 
sion, and within the church 1 They stand separate from 
all my past life. I can remember nothing immediately be- 
fore or after either. Sister, tell me, if you know — what 
followed ?” 

“ It seems that, when the lady fainted at the sight of 
you, and the marriage stopped, you were frightened by the 
effect your presence had produced, and you withdrew from 
the church and went back to work on the building ; but 
that you seemed as one in a trance, until being on a high 
scaffolding, you made a misstep and fell to the ground, and 
was picked up insensible, and afterward brought here. 
That is all I can tell you of yourself.” 

“ Yes, of myself ! but of the young lady whom I fright- 
ened, sister, what of her ?” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ jN’ot even her name, or her abode ?” 

No, I know nothing whatever about her, except that 
her marriage was stopped at the time she fainted. I do 
not even know whether it has since been concluded.” 

“ Heaven forbid 1” 

“ Why do you say that ?” 

“ Oh, sister 1 it is too long a story to tell you ! Nor 
do I know whether I could tell it ; it is so full of agony ! 




THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


415 


nor even if I could, whether you would believe it ; it is so 
full of mystery ! — Sister!” 

“ Well, my friend ?” 

“ Do you still believe me to be a maniac ?” 

“ No, I do not.” ‘ 

“Nor even a monomaniac, perhaps ?” 

“No — not now 

“ Not now ? What do you mean, sister ? Do you think 
that I have ever been either the one or the other?” 

“ I do not know ! possibly 1 but let that pass now. You 
were about to say something else to me. What was it ?” 

“ Do you believe me to speak ‘ the words of truth and 
soberness,’ when I declare myself to be Arthur Powis ?” 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“ Notwithstanding William Simmons, the half-witted hod- 
bearer, of the last twelve months ?” 

“ Yes, notwithstanding all that ?” 

“ Can you reconcile the two opposites ?” 

“ Yes, Simmons ; I beg your pardon, Mr. Powis, I think 
I can.” 

“ Oh, then, give me your ideas on this subject ! Por it 
is one of more than life and death to me ! it is one of hap- 
piness, or misery I of reason, or madness 1” said the young 
man, eagerly. 

“ I have been a hospital nurse for twenty years. For 
fifteen of these years I had the care of a ward in a lunatic 
asylum. While there I had many opportunities of study- 
ing the various phases of insanity by the brightest lights 
of science. I studied many interesting cases of partial and 
transient mania, and among them a case that somewhat 
resembled your own.” 

“ Good Heaven I then you really think that I Jiave been 
insane ?” cried the 3 »oung man in a tone of consternation. 

“ Yes, I do ; how else can I account for the discrepancies 
in your life and conduct ? I think that you have been in- 
sane — not from any chronic or organic derangement of the 


416 THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

brain, but from a transient functional disturbance, caused 
1)3^ a blow on the head ; a sort of insanit3" that need cause 
you no alarm, since it may be easily cured, is not likel}" to 
return, and cannot become hereditary. While we have been 
talking together for the last hour, I have been stud3dng 
3^our case by the light of my long experience in the lunatic 
asylum.’’ 

“And what do 3^ou make of it? Help me to understand 
it, sister ; for I am yet too weak in mind and body to do it 
alone,” said the young man, in a mournful manner. 

“ I think this, then : I think that 3^011 really are Mr. 
Arthur Powis, as you have stated 3"Ourself to be. And I 
think all else you have told me to be perfectly true. I 
think that when the negro felled you hy that terrible blow 
he inflicted a great injury upon your brain ; and that when 
3’ou returned to consciousness, you did not return with the 
full possession of your mental faculties ; 3’our memory and 
your understanding were both impaired ; 3’'ou were, in fact, 
partially insane — from some accidental circumstance or 
other — for there is alwa3'S some directing cause for the 
wildest fancies of the insane ; 3^ou imagined 3^ourself to be 
the man that y'ou have passed off for during the past 3"ear. 
It was a case of monomania, that might even have lasted 
longer, but that it was cut short by another accident. Your 
fall ; the concussion of the brain, and the fever that fol- 
lowed, has providentially resulted in the restoration of 
3'our reason. A blow on the head caused 3^our insanit3", 
and a fall has cured it.” 

'‘'Simiila similibus curantiir.'’ But it is w^onderful !” 
mused Arthur Powis. 

“ No, not more wonderful than many other matters con- 
nected with our human life. Ph3'siology and psychology 
are full of such m3^steries, that the sciences are every day 
solving. For instance — inflammation of the lungs, that 
sometimes originates consumption, has also been known to 
arrest its progress. And the causes and cures of insanity 
.qvp verv ^ften the same. The case that I spoke of as some- 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 417 


what resembling yours — inasmuch as it was a case of mania, 
involving a lost identity and caused and cured by the same 
agency — was this : — An old and wealthy bachelor had a 
brain fever, of which he recovered ; but with a strange 
monomania — one of the strangest, indeed, that I ever heard 
of,” said the sister, with a smile, and with some hesitation. 

“ What was it ?” inquired the young man, with interest. 

Why he, a wealthy old bachelor, imagined himself to 
be a needy widow, with ten fatherless children. He dressed 
himself in woman’s clothes ; dandled a pillow for a baby, 
and begged work, or help, for his orphans, of every one 
that w^ould listen to him.* At last his friends sent him to 
our asylum ; where he had the very best treatment that the 
last discoveries of science enabled us to give him ; but in 
vain ; for at the end of three 3^ears he was pronounced in- 
curable ; and as he was perfectly harmless he was removed 
by his friends. But observe. The very day after his re- 
moval he was seized with a brain fever, similar to the first, 
and which happily resulted in the perfect restoration of his 
reason. The only reminiscence of his mania that troubled 
him was this : that he had had such a miserable dream of 
being a poor widow with ten hungry children !” 

“ That was, indeed, a strange case ; and somewhat similar 
to mine, though I hope you will admit that it was more 
ridiculous than any of my fancies,” said Arthur Powis, 
with something between a smile and a sigh. 

‘‘Yes, certainly. I might mention other cases, in other 
departments of medicine, wherein the cause and the cure 
were similar — for instance, I knew a poor old negro man 
who lost his ej^esight through receiving a violent blow on 
the head, that paralyzed the optic nerves. He groped 
about in stone-blindness for years ; and then happening in 
his darkness to miss his footing and fall down the area 
stairs and strike his head upon the stones below, he recov- 
ered his sight, f 


26 


* A fact. 


f Another fact. 


418 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYH. 


The sister paused and the sick man mused. 

“ I tell you all these things,” resumed the Sister Domitia, 
“ not to fatigue or excite 3^our mind, but to teach 3^011 — or 
rather, to remind you, for your own reading must have al- 
ready taught you — that these mysteries of physiology and 
ps3mhology do really exist and often baffle the utmost skill 
of science. And also to assure you that your own case is 
neither incurable, recurrent, or hereditary, and therefore 
need not give you an3^ uneasiness about your future.” 

“ I thank you, sister. I thank 3"Ou more than I can ex- 
press for all your kindness. But — it is not of m3"self that 
I am thinking now. But of my 3^oung wife, who has not 
been absent from my mind for one moment since I re- 
covered my consciousness. Oh ! where is she ? and how 
did I wander away and become lost to her and to myself?” 
said the 3^oung man, in a tone of the deepest grief. 

“ That we cannot know at once. But we can write to 
her> or to her friends, and make all necessary inquiries. 
Do not distress 3^ourself. Thank God, rather, for your 
recovered reason.” 

“ Oh I I do, I do. But you will write at once, sister ; 
will you not ? 

“ Yes, I will. To whom shall I direct the letter?” 

“ Stop ! let me think : I have been lost to her for more 
than a year. She will probably have left Ceres Cottage 
long ago ; and Heaven knows that it may have been her- 
self whom I heard singing in the attic in the brown stone 
palace. It may have been herself whom I saw standing up 
to be married in the church — and honestly believing her- 
self to be a widow I And yet I do not think so, either. I 
do . not think that Gladys w^ould have forgotten me so soon. 
So it could not have been Gladys. And yet — and yet — 
that bride fainted when she saw me I Why should a bride 
faint on seeing a strange man?” 

“ Mr. Powis,” said the sister, gently interrupting him. 

“Well, Sister Domitia.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 419 

“ Do not let your mind fall into these perplexing specu- 
lations. Remember that you are not well yet. Dictate 
your letter, and let me send it. Doing practical duties is 
a healthy occupation for the mind.’’ 

“ You are right, sister, and I thank you. I will dictate 
to you now. But I will not write directly to my wife ; for 
I do not know exactly where to address her. I will write 
to her late landladies, the Misses Crane, of Ceres Cottage, 
near the Capitol Hill, Washington. Take that address, if 
you please.” 

The sister drew a little writing-case from her ample 
pocket — a convenient little case, often used in the service of 
the sick — and she prepared herself to indite a letter, at the 
dictation of the patient. It was a short, simple letter, not 
troubling the aged ladies with any account of the writer’s 
temporary insanity and recovery, but simply asking of 
them the information whether Mrs. Arthur Powis was still 
their lodger, or, if she was not, when she had left and where 
she had gone ; and, above all, where she could now be 
found, and what were her present circumstances. 

When the sister had finished and sealed this letter, her 
patient said : 

“ You are very kind to me. Sister Domitia, and I feel 
earnestly grateful to you. But — I have another favor to 
ask you.” 

“Yes — well, what is it? I like to do favors?” replied 
the sister, cheerfully, as she closed and returned her writing- 
case to her pocket. 

“ I wish you to find out the name and residence of that 
young bride who fainted at the sight of me at the church. 
I really do not believe that she was any thing to me, much 
less that she was my Gladys, for that would be too horrible 
to contemplate I No, I do not believe that she was my wife. 
But — I wish to be assured that she was not. Can you, 
without much trouble, find out who she is, and where she 
lives, sister?” 


420 THE BE IDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

‘‘ I daro say that I can. I will send and inquire of the 
sexton of St. Asaph’s church. No doubt he will be able to 
furnish us with correct information. I will see to it at 
once,” said Sister Domitia, rising, with the letter in her 
hand. 

“ And send that also by the first mail, if you please,” said 
the patient, pointing to the letter. 

‘‘ I certainly will.” 

‘‘ Oh, this doubt ! this doubt I” groaned Arthur Powis. 

“Now, my young friend, you really must exercise some 
self-control. You know as well as 1 do how much depends 
upon your maintaining a tranquil state of mind,” urged his 
nurse, as she smoothed his pillows, and straightened his 
quilt, and then left him to go upon her benevolent mission. 

“ Oh, yes, I know — I know ! I know how much depends 
upon my seeming calm and self-possessed. But can I 
really he so ? Insane ! — have I really been insane for the 
last lost year of my life ?” groaned the young man, tightly 
clasping his temples, as was his frequent custom now. “ I 
suppose I shall never have, of myself, any very clear recol- 
lection of 'the events of this lost year. Only the salient 
points, like the invisible singer in the brown stone mansion, 
and the fainting bride in the church, will stand out like the 
disjointed scenes in a delirious dream. Was it really 
Gladys whom I saw in the church ? Was it — was it ? 
How can I tell ? If so, who was with her ? I do not know. 
.^11 is still confused — a distracting crowd of strange faces 
gathered around one familiar one that seemed to be Gladys 
and yet could not have been ! And she fainted on seeing 
me, as Gladys would have done under the same circum- 
stances.” 

He paused in his mental monologue, and strove to recall 
the scene, but strove in vain; and then he resumed his 
silent soliloquy. 

“Would Gladys have forgotten me so soon! Ah, no. 
But then again, after missing me so long, and believing me 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 421 

to be lost, or dead perhaps, she must have left those kind 
old ladies, and she must have finally fallen into the hands 
of that ruthless woman, her guardian ; and, helpless and 
hopeless, she may have been driven or deceived into a 
guilty re- marriage. But with whom ? With that idiotic 
Stukely, most likely. If so, I will kill that fool wherever 
I find him 1” exclaimed the young man, with a clenched 
hand, set teeth, and hashing eyes, and an expression of 
ferocity and determination in his whole manner and counte- 
nance, that fully justified Mr. Stukely’s ])re-visions of what 
was to be his own fate should Arthur Powis ever “ turn 
up.” 

“ But oh ! Gladys ! Gladys !” exclaimed the young man, 
with a sudden and pathetic change of tone. “ Oh, my 
love I my wife I where is she now ? What has she not 
suffered ? I dare not think ! That way, indeed, ‘ madness 
lies And I — have need of all my reason I For I have a 
work to do ! I must, with the aid of others, trace back 
every step of my career, through this last lost year of my 
life, and pick up every dropped link, that the chain of 
ev-ents may be restored, completed, to my memory I That 
kind sister told me much, but not all ; since she could not 
even tell me how I was picked up, after Ijeing felled by the 
bludgeon of that murderous negro ; nor yet how I came 
from Washington to New York 1 But I must seek all this 
information by tracing back my steps.” 

In the midst of his reflections the youing man was inter- 
rupted by the return of Sister Domitia with a bowl of 
savory broth and a plate of dry toast on a waiter in her 
hands. 

I have mailed your letter, and sent h messenger for the 
sexton of St. Asaph’s, who will be here 'this evening. And 
now you must take this broth, and then compose yourself 
to rest. Otherwise you will be in a fever, and the doctor 
will find fault. Besides, you know yoiu’self, how injurious 
to all your hopes and plans a relapse i^ould be,” said the 


422 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


sister, as she sat the water down on a tiny stand near by, 
and raised the patient to a sitting position, that he might 
eat more comfortably. 

The young man obeyed the nun in all her directions, 
and after eating the broth laid down again, turned his face 
to the wall, and honestly tried to go to sleep. And after 
a while he succeeded. 

There must have been a strong reaction from excitement 
to exhaustion, for the patient slept an unbroken sleep of 
several hours. 

When he awoke the sexton was waiting to see him. 


The sister was careful to bring the patient’s tea and 
make him drink it before she brought the sexton to his 
bedside. 

The sexton had but little to say in answer to the young 
man’s eager, anxious inquiries ; but what he did say was 
terribly in point. 

“ Yes,” he said, “he knew the names of the parties. The 
bridegroom’s name was Mr. James Stukely. And the 
bride’s name was Gladys — something or other ; but, indeed, 
he had forgotten jwhat. But the name of the elder lady 
was Mrs. Jay Lle^^ellyn.” 

It was true, theiji I It was his own Gladys who was to 
have been marriedjl And it was James Stukely to whom 
she was to have bben sacrificed I And it was Mrs. Jay 
Llewellyn who was| the arch mover of the whole matter I 
thought Arthur Poivis, as, with white lips, he ventured the 
question : 

“ Do you know 'v^'hether that interrupted marriage was 
ever resumed and completed?” 

“ It was not, sir— i-at least while the family stayed in New 
York.” I 

“ They have gone 

“Yes, sir. You 

things in the churclji as that broken-off ceremony 
had the curiosity to 


then ?” 

see we sextons don’t often 


see 


such 
; so I 

keep the parties in sight, and keep the 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 423 


run of them, as it were. And I found out where they 

lived. It was in a brown stone mansion in street. 

But they stayed there only three weeks after the interrupted 
wedding. They all went back to Yirginia, where they belong.’’ 

“All ? — the would-be bridegroom, the reluctant bride, and 
all ?” breathlessly demanded the young man. 

“All, sir ; every one of them, I believe ; for so I was told 
by the agent that lets the house. And I saw the house 
shut up with my own eyes.” 

That was all the sexton had to tell. But from it Arthur 
Powis learned for a certainty that the sweet invisible sin- 
ger in the brown stone palace and the unwilling bride at 
St. Asaph’s church were one and the same with his own 
Gladys. 


CHAPTEB XLI. 

LOST LINKS IN A LIFE. 

Oh, sir, I conjure thee, as thou believ’st 
There is another comfort than this world. 

That thou neglect me not, with that opinion, 

That I am touched with madness. — Shakspeare. 

Arthur Powis, of whose identity there was now no 
longer any question, thanked the sexton for his iu forma- 
tion and dismissed him. And then he turned his face to 
the wall to think over all that he had heard. With a great 
deal of truth, the sexton had mixed a little error in his 
statement. Mrs. Llewellyn and lier family had gone 
South ; but they had not taken Gladys with them. She 
had escaped to Washington and they were in pursuit 
of her. 

But on the mind of Arthur Powis there was no longer 
any doubt ; Gladys had fallen into the hands of her 
treacherous guardian, and had been forced or deceived 


424 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


into consenting to a marriage with her imbecile son ; when 
his own unexpected appearance in the church providen- 
tially interrupted the proceedings. And she had recog- 
nized him, even in his disguise and degradation ; and that 
recognition had thrown her into a swoon. 

Not for one moment did Arthur Fowis blame his poor 
young wife ; but his heart burned with indignation against 
the false guardian and the weak bridegroom, against both 
of whom he mentally recorded vows of vengeance. 

They had gone back to Yirginia ; and according to the 
sexton’s statement, they had taken Gladys with them ; and 
she was still in their power, and, though the felonious mar- 
riage had been interrupted, they would still persist in 
their purpose and compel or beguile her into consum- 
mating it. Therefore he resolved, ill as he was, to set out 
for Yirginia ; rescue Gladys from the power of her tor- 
mentors ; and appeal to the law to set aside the betrayed 
guardianship of Mrs. Llewellyn, and to restore the estates 
of Kader Idris to the legal heiress and to her husband. 
To investigate that alfair of the murderous attack that 
had been made upon him thirteen months before, and that 
had inflicted upon him more than a year of insanity and 
loss of identity, and to bring the criminals to justice, was 
quite an after consideration. But to do any thing eflec- 
tually he must immediately begin to trace back the events 
of this last lost year of his life and pick up the dropped 
links of memoir’s chain. 

It was now, however, late at night ; the attendants had 
all gone ; no one but a night-watcher was in charge of the 
ward ; even Sister Domitia had gone to bed, since there 
was no one ill enough to require her constant vigilance. 
Nothing, therefore, could be done until the morning; and 
Arthur Powis was obliged to resign himself to circum- 
stances. He was still so weak that sleep gently overcame 
him, in the midst of his anxieties, and wrapped him in for- 
getfulness. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


425 


So great was the reaction from his previous excitement 
that he slept very late into the next morning : he slept 
until the ward was put into perfect order for the day, and 
the doctor paid his morning visit. 

The doctor came up to the bedside. Sister Domitia was 
standing there. Sister Domitia herself had been busy with 
picking up lost links. She had searched the navy lists of 
the current and the past years ; and she had found the 
name of Arthur Powis on all the lists she had looked at 
except that for the current year. Then she had procured 
files of the Washington papers for October of the preceding 
year, and had found many paragraphs, headed “ Mysteri- 
ous Disappearance op a Naval Officer “ Supposed 
Murder op Lieutenant Arthur Powis and a-lso adver- 
tisements offering rewards for any intelligence respecting 
his fate. And she had copied all these paragraphs and 
advertisements and put them in her pocket to show to the 
doctor. 

The doctor was now standing by the patient’s bedside, 
and inquiring, cheerfully : 

“ How is Simmons this morning ?” 

“ Lieutenant Powis is better,” replied the sister. 

“ Eh ! what ! has he infected you with his madness ?” 
smilingly demanded the doctor. 

“ It is no madness — at least not now. There has been 
madness, or rather monomania ; but that was when our 
patient supposed himself to be William Simmons.” 

The doctor stared. 

“ Oh, sir, surely, in the course of your practice, this can- 
not be the first case you have met with of this sort,” said 
the sister, a little impatiently. 

“Just give me to understand your reasons for saying 
what you do,” requested the doctor. 

The sister told him all that had passed between herself 
and the patient ; and between the patient and the sexton ; 
and then she showed him her abstracts from the navy list, 
and from the papers of the preceding year. 


426 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

Humph 1 this looks as if the young man was Arthur 
Powis, sure enough,’’ said the doctor, who seemed unwilling 
to commit himself by giving a decided opinion. 

In the midst of the discussion the patient opened his 
eyes. Then the doctor betrayed his real sentiments, when 
he inquired : 

“ How do you feel this morning, Mr. Powis ?” 

Very much better, thank you. Doctor Howard. Thank 
you, also, for recognizing me at last as Arthur Powis,” said 
the young man, gravely. 

“ Why, I hope you do not think there was any wilfulness 
in my refusing to do so before ?” smiled the doctor. 

“ I do not ; but now I wish you to tell me whether I can 
go on to Washington to-day ?” 

“ Whe-ew !” 

“ That is no answer, doctor.” 

“ Then, my dear fellow, no I It is utterly impossible. 
You could not stand on your feet for a single minute. You 
could not sit up in bed for two minutes. You are much 
weaker than you imagine ; although, mind, you are doing 
extremely well, and recovering as fast as possible.” 

The young man did not sigh. He closed his lips firmly, 
and looked very grim, when he heard this sentence. After 
a little while he opened them again, and inquired : 

“ Doctor, are there no powerful tonics, or stimulants, or 
both combined, in pharmacopoeia, that might give me a tran- 
sient strength, that would enable me — enable me to perform 
the journey?” 

“And drop down and have a relapse of the brain fever in 
the middle of it ? No.” 

“ It is of such vital importance that I should go to Wash- 
ington immediately.” 

“ Would not a letter answer ?” 

“ No ; for it would never reach its destination.” 

“ Could you not send a messenger on your business ?” 

“ No ; for a messenger would not be permitted the op- 
portunity to deliver my message.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 427 

“ Why, how is this ? What mystery is this inquired 
the doctor, doubtfully, as though he still suspected the 
perfect sanity of his patient. 

“ Oh, sir, it is a long, sad story. But if you have time 
this morning, I would like to tell it to you, and have your 
advice upon it.’’ 

“ I have other j)atients to visit, that will occupy me about 
two hours. After that I shall be at leisure for about half 
an hour, and will put myself at your service.” 

“ Thank you, doctor. And now I wish you to tell me, 
if I am very self-controlled, and very careful to co-operate 
with you for my rapid restoration to health, how soon, at 
the earliest, may I be able to travel ?” 

The doctor hesitated, and then, looking into the anxious, 
questioning eyes of his patient, answered : 

“ Within a week, and sooner, perhaps, if you can get any 
friend to travel with you.” 

“ Friend I I wonder where I could find one now ? They 
must all believe me dead a twelvemonth I” said Arthur 
Powis, rubbing his scarred forehead. 

But the doctor had already passed on to his other 
l^atients. 

“ Sister Domitia I” said the young man. 

“Well, Mr. Powis.” 

“ If I am to lay here several days more, I may just as 
well begin my work from this bed, and do it as well as 
I can.” 

“ What work, friend ?’ 

“ Picking up dropped stitches I And as I must begin at 
the present time, and trace back step by step, I wish you 
to send for that landlady ; at whose house you said I lived 
last ; and let me question her. Will you do this ?” 

“ Certainly, I will do it at once,” said the sister, going 
oflf immediately to comply with his request. She soon 
returned and informed Arthur that a messenger had been 
despatched to fetch Mrs. Simmons. 


428 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


At the expiration of the two hours, the doetor came hack 
from his round of visits, and sat down by the side of his 
patient to hear his story. 

In as few words as he could clearly relate the circum- 
stances, Arthur Powis told Doctor Howard every thing. 

The doctor listened with the most interested attention. 

The patient concluded his narrative by saying : 

“ I know that Mrs. Llewellyn instigated the assassin to 
that murderous attack upon my life ; I know that she be- 
lieved the attempt to have been successful ; and that she 
sought to force or to deceive my supposed widow into a 
marriage with her imbecile son, that he might become the 
nominal master of Kader Idris, while she^ his mother, 
would really wield all the power, and appropriate all the 
revenues of the manor.’’ 

“ From what 3"ou have narrated, I think your opinions 
of her designs are well founded,” said the doctor. 

“ I know they are,” agreed Mr. Powis. “ But now listen 
again ! I told you, on the authority of others — for to me 
it is still like a nightmare — the scene that took place in 
church. Think, what would have been the consequences 
had not that ceremony been providentially interrupted ! 
We have the sexton’s word that they have returned to Vir- 
ginia, taking my wife with them. She is in their power ; 
and the iniquitous ceremony that was interrupted in the 
church may be resumed and concluded elsewhere ! And 
now judge what reason I have for wishing to hasten to 
Virginia.” 

“ But your wife would never consent I Having seen and 
recognized you in the church, as 3"0u say she did, she will 
never be so criminal as to consent to such a marriage.” 

“ Oh I she is but a young and timid girl ; and she is in 
the power of a wretch possessed of all the wickedness and 
guile of Satan.” 

“ Then write to her at once. Tell her your whereabouts ; and 
tell her that you will be at her side before the week is out.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 429 

“ The letter would never be permitted to reach her. It 
would be intercepted by Mrs. Llewellyn.’’ 

“ Then send a trusty messenger. I will advance you 
what money you may want.” 

“No, thank you very much. But no messenger would 
be permitted to see her. She is, in all human probability, 
a prisoner in her own room at Kader Idris.” 

“What an infernal business it is altogether!” broke 
forth the doctor ; but instantly recollecting that he had 
spoken too abruptly to a convalescent man, he softened 
down his tone and muttered, “ Well, well, you keep cool 
and quiet as you can for a few days, and then you will be 
able to go down there yourself And nothing of the sort 
you fear is at all likely to happen very soon.” 

“ No, I think not I I think it will take months for them 
to get over the shock they all received in the church.” 

While the doctor and his patient conversed, a visitor 
was announced to the latter. It was Mrs. Simmons. And 
so the doctor took his leave, and gave his place to the new 
comer. 

But Mrs. Simmons was not alone. A fine looking young 
man, who seemed to be a laborer, in his Sunday clothes, 
accompanied her. 

“ Being as it were a sick man, let alone my own boarder 
laid up in a hospital, as sent for me, I felt bound to come ; 
for all that Billy here — meaning my own Billy, and not my 
boarder — had just that minute arrove from Washington, all 
unexpected ; which I didn’t look for him until Christmas ; 
and as I wouldn’t abide to let my eyes ofien him for a sin- 
gle minute, I just brought him along, hoping no offence to 
the sisters,” said Mrs. Simmons, panting for breath, as she 
sank down into a chair beside Arthur’s bed. 

“ Oh, no offence at all,” answered Sister Domitia, smiling. 

“ Well, and Billy, how are you, and did you want me for 
any thing particular ? — meaning not my own Billy, but you 
there in the bed.” 


430 THE BE IDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ I am rapidly recovering, thank yon. What I wish to 
know of you is — when and under what circumstances I came 
to your house to lodge,” said Arthur Powis, fixing his 
earnest eyes upon the woman’s face. 

Mrs. Simmons stared. This was not the look or the 
manner, or even the words and tones of the hod-hearer ; Ms 
look was wandering, his manner distracted, his words few, 
and his tones grufif; tMs man’s was the reverse of all that; 
and his late landlady stared until she found her tongue, and 
then she exclaimed : 

“ Hoity-toity ! You’re a putting on of airs, aint you ? 
Whoever heerd tell of your talking dictionary to me ?” 

The young patient’s eyes kindled ominously. But Sister 
Domitia shook her finger at him, smiled, and stooping, 
whispered : 

“ I must take her aside and explain, if I can.” 

Then she drew Mrs. Simmons away from the hed-side, 
and in a few plain words stated the case. 

The old clothes vender stared more than ever, and at 
last answered : 

“ Well, there I I always thought there was something 
out’ll the way about Billy, poor, dear fellow I And so he 
imaginated himself to be a navial officer. Lor !” 

No, no, no, Mrs. Simmons ; he really was a naval officer ; 
only after he received that blow on the head which injured 
his brain, he somehow or other got the impression that his 
name was William Simmons, and he labored under that de- 
lusion for more than a year,” said the sister. 

‘‘ Yes, poor fellow, he labored hard enough at that hod- 
toting, I wont deny that! And never failed to pay his 
board reg’lar like a honest man, and never grumbled at his 
wittels like a Christian,” said the bewildered landlady. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


431 


CHAPTER XLII. 

A NEW COMER. 

Let me speak to the yet unknowing world > 

How these things came about.; so shall you hear 
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts ; 

Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters ; 

Of deaths put on by cunning, and forced cause 
And in this upshot, purposes mistook 
fallen on the inventors’ heads. — Shakspeare. 

While the sister was trying to make the case clear to 
Mrs. Simmons, and the latter was trying to understand it, 
the real “ Simon Pure ” was standing staring down at the 
face of Arthur Powis, until at last he exclaimed : 

“ Oh, I say 1 look here ! I’ve seen you before!” 

“ Where ?” anxiously demanded Arthur, in the hope 
that in the answer he might pick up a lost link or two. 

“ Why down to Washington, to be sure !” 

When and under what circumstances ?” 

Good gracious me I why that night when you went a- 
bathing and like to have gone to the other world I” 

Went a-bathing!” breathlessly repeated Arthur Powis. 

“ Yes I at least, we all thought you did.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake tell me all about it ; for I have no 
recollection whatever of the circumstance.” 

“Yery like you haven’t; for the breath was clean 
knocked out of your body, and the senses out of your 
brains, by that everlasting plunge you made.” 

“ Plunge I made ?” 

Yes. You took a flying leap from the bridge into the 
water, and of course you struck one of the timbers that 
prop the old foundation.” 

“ Friend, I know nothing whatever of all this I Pray 
tell me the story, as you would tell it to a perfect stranger. 
I am intensely interested in hearing it,” said Arthur Powis, 
eagerly. 


432 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYHr 


“Well, I haven’t got any objection, though it does seem 
strange to tell a man his own story. And I’m afear’d I 
shall have to begin at the beginning and talk about myself ; 
eh, sir?” 

“ Any thing that brings me information.” 

“ Well then, 3"Ou must know, sir, when we first went to 
Washington, me and John Howe, we wasn’t engaged on the 
government works, but had to take any thing we could get 
to do to bring us wages ; so we shipped aboard of a oyster 
vessel running up and down the Potomac and the Anacos- 
tia — you see ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, one Sunday, when we had sold out all our cargo 
of o^^sters at the wharf, us men we had nothing to do, so 
we took the row boat and we rowed up the eastern branch 
as far as Bennett’s swamp, which is a famous place to shoot 
ortolan, and reed birds, and partridges, j'ou know?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, we couldn’t push the boat up into the swamp 
very well — though I have seen the niggers do that for gen- 
tlemen ; so we rowed up as far as the causeway at the end 
of Bennett’s bridge, and we drawed in our oars and sat 
there, considering how we should get at the birds, and 
whether it wasn’t too late altogether to get at them at all ; 
for 3^ou see there wasn’t one of us as knew any thing about 
killing birds — we was better at catching 03'sters, you 
know ?” 

“ Of course.” 

“ So there we sat like fools, knowing no more than the 
two dogs — which was nyther p’inters nor setters, but just 
mongrel curs — what to do. At last, while we was staring- 
up at the bridge, which was just then getting to be rather 
shadowy in the twilight, we saw a man drop over it into 
the water with a great splash. 

“ ‘ There,’ says my mate, ‘ that’s a man trying to commit 
suicide by drownding of himself.’ 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


433 


“ ‘ No,’ sa 3 's I ; ‘ more likely lie is going to take a bath.’ 

^'Any ways, sir, we rowed to the spot to see what the 
matter was ; and there we saw the man tangled half in and 
half out of the water, being caught in the under pinnings of 
the bridge. That man was you, sir !” 

“ I know — I know !” said Arthur Powis, eagerly. ‘‘But 
for Heaven’s sake go on.” 

“ Well, sir, we lifted you into the boat and one of the 
men threw a pea-jacket over you, for you was undressed, 
sir. And then we struck a light and commenced to exam- 
ine you. You had a awful gash that laid open your fore- 
head, where you must heve struck in falling. At first we 
couldn’t tell whether you were dead or not. My mate, John 
How’e, thought not ; for he says, says he : 

“ ‘ If that man meant to commit suicide, he’s made a 
mess of it ; for he has mangled himself and only half done 
the job.’ 

“ ‘ You fool,’ says I, ‘ do men take the trouble to undress 
before they commit suicide?’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! I didn’t think of that,’ says he. 

“ ‘ He was going to take a bath only, as he jumped off he 
struck the under-pinnings of the bridge, and here he is.’ 
Wasn’t I right, sir ?” inquired Mrs. Simmons’ son. 

“ No, my friend. Neither you nor your mate hit upon 
the real cause of my injury. But let that pass for the pres- 
ent. You saved my life. I will not thank you for doing 
so, as I should thank you for handing me a newspaper, or 
lending me an umbrella ; no ! but henceforth, William Sim- 
mons, you are my brother !” said Arthur Powis, ferventl}", 
holding out his hand. 

The young man was rather overpowered by this excessive 
demonstration of gratitude, and he blushed like a giil as 
Arthur Powis wrung his hand. 

“ I’m sure, sir, I did no more than my duty. Why a 
heathen infidel would not stand by and see a drownding 
man drownd, let alone a Christian 1” 

27 


434 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN, 


“ What next ? I want to know what followed, and how 
I came to be called by your name,’^ said Arthur. 

“ Well, I will fell you, sir. Well, you see, there you lay 
in the bottom of the boat, cold as ice, and growing colder 
every minute, with nothing but the pea-jacket thrown over 
you. Fortunatel}" I had brought a extry pair of trousers 
with me, because I was told I should get soaking wet wad- 
ing leg deep in the swamp after the birds. And though a 
waterman needn’t always be particular about water, yet you 
see, sir, I had had the ’flambetary rheumatism once and I 
didn’t want to have it again. So I had took the extry pair 
of trousers. And now they come right into use, for we put 
them on to you. And then we put the pea-jacket on you, 
right ; and when we had made you decent we rowed down 
the river to get clear of the swamp and find a good landing- 
place. And there we landed and went to find some help to 
move you. It was the most lonesomest place to be so near 
the Capitol at Washington. Hardly a house to be seen. 
Well, we found a little hut at last ; but the man that owned 
it couldn’t take you in ; but he told ns that the poor house 
was not far off, and we had better take you there. And he 
lent us the loan of his door, which he took it offen the 
hinges ; and we took it down to the boat and laid you on 
it and carried you to the poor house. You were breathing 
when we got you there. And the master and the matron 
came out and looked at you and asked us about eleven 
thousand questions : — Who were you ? Where were you 
hurt ? How did it happen ? And all that I And we an- 
, swered — That you were out bathing, and, in jumping from 
the bridge to make j^our plunge, you struck your head 
against the under-pinnings of the bridge and stunned your- 
self. And though you say, sir, as that wasn’t the way it 
happened, we certainly thought it was, and we told the gov- 
ernor so and he believed it. Well, after a little objecting 
and so on, they took you in there. And there w^e left you, 
being obliged to get back to the oyster wessel as fast as 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


485 


ever we could. And I never saw you again, sir, until I 
see j’^ou here ; for we sailed down the river next morning 
and was gone for three weeks. 

“You saved my life, and henceforth you are my brother !” 
said Arthur Powis, with emotion. “ But you haven’t yet 
told me how it was that I happened to be called by your 
name ?” 

“ Haven’t I ? I thought that I had ? It was all along 
of the trousers !” 

“ The trousers ?” 

“ Yes; you see — but I better tell you all about it ! At 
the end of our three weeks’ voyage down the river, we come 
back to Washington with a load of oysters, and the first 
thing I thought of after we had sold out, was the man who 
had broken his head by jumping off Bennett’s bridge. So I 
just went to the poor house to ask what had become of 
you, and whether you had got over it, and so on.” 

“ ^ Oh, 3^ou mean William Simmons, who had that dread- 
ful fracture in the forehead from striking his head in jump- 
ing from a bridge ?’ said the matron. 

“‘The same,’ said I — ‘only his name is not Simmons; 
Simmons is my name.’ ” 

“ ‘Yes, it is,’ said the matron. 

“ ‘ How do 3'ou know that V said I, rather mad to see her 
so positive. 

“ ‘ Why, because Simmons was the name on the pocket 
handkerchief in his trousers’ pocket. And Simmons was 
the name writ on the back of a letter in the pocket of his 
pea-jacket. And when he come to himself we called him 
Simmons, and he never denied his name. And, moreover, 
when the clerk who was making out the report asked him 
if his name was William Simmons, he said he reckoned it 
was; and whether his friends lived in ]S^e^Y York, he said 
he reckoned they did. But he seemed to be either a half- 
witted fellow naturally, or to have been seriously injured 
in the brain b}^ tlie blow he received, ’ sa3^s the matron. 


436 THE BRIBE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ Well, sir, I saw how it was in a minute. I saw, as 
they didn’t know your own name, it was very natural they 
should suppose it to be the name found on the letter and 
the pocket handkerchief about you. Don’t you think so ?” 

“Yes,” said Arthur Powis; “and in the weakened state 
of my brain at the time of my restoration to consciousness 
it was equally natural, I suppose, that it should very 
readily receive any impression made upon it. And so 
when they called me William Simmons, I, being half in- 
sane at the time, believed that to be my name. But 
go on !” 

“Well, sir, I asked to see you; but the matron told me 
that you were not there ; that you had left the asylum 
three days before, with a young man of the name of Slosh, 
to set out and walk with him to New York in search of 
work. Then, sir, I left. And that is all I ever heard of 
3^ou until I saw you here.” 

William Simmons had finished his story. 

Arthur Powis lay, with his hands pressed upon his fore- 
head, in deep and silent thought. Presently, however, he 
stretched out his arm, took the hand of Simmons in his 
own, and holding it closely clasped, he said : 

“You have done me an invaluable service — not only in 
the preservation of my life, but in the restoration to me 
of the lost links in my memory’s chain. For, while you 
spoke to me, I began to remember, as a dream, the inci- 
dents you related. In time I hope to recover the whole 
of my broken life. I have said that you shall henceforth 
be my brother. Y"ou shall. When I rise from this bed, 
one of my first cares shall be to acknowledge, in a more 
substantial manner, the great debt that I owe you. Let 
me see you again to-morrow. Good-by.” 

Mrs. Simmons, who had been waiting impatiently for 
this interview to close, now came forward to take leave. 

“ Good-by, Mr. Arthur Simmons — sho I I meant Mr. 
William Powis. I hope you’ll get up soon. I aint a bit 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


43.7 


surprised. I knowed a gentleman once, in a brain fever, 
as imaginated his own blessed legs to be glass tubes, and 
was dreadful ’fraid the nurse might break them every time 
she straightened the kiver ; and a lady who imaginated her 
head to be a hot loaf, and was ’fraid to go to sleep for fear 
the cook would slice it for tea. But they got over it, and 
so will j'^ou, and so good-by.’’ 

“ Good-b3L” said Arthur, smiling. 

When his visitors had left him, Arthur beckoned Sister 
Domitia to his bedside. 

“ Sister, if I am not taxing you patience too much, I 
should like to ask another favor of you.” 

“Name it, Mr. Powis. I am glad to be of service to 
you.” 

“ Well, then — when you were telling me all you knew 
of my history, you spoke of a Mrs. Slosh among my 
landladies.” 

“ Yes ; she is a washerwoman, and lives in Catherine 
street.” 

“ Well, Simmons tells me that I came to New York in 
company with a man named Slosh, who must have been of 
the same family, I think. Now, I want that man found.” 

“ I will go myself this afternoon — I have business in 
Catherine street — and I will inquire of the woman.” 

“ Thank you, sister. Ah ! it seems to me that it requires 
all my breath to return proper thanks for all the kindness 
that is shown me ” 

That afternoon Sister Domitia went on her errand. At 
about sunset she returned. And this was the sum of the 
information she had obtained from the laundress : That her 
husband, John Slosh, was a roving, unthrifty sort of a man, 
and that in the last year he had gone to Washington, and 
while there had been taken up for vagrancy and committed 
to the work house, where he took a great fancy to a good- 
natured sort of youth, who was in the adjoining alms-house 
recovering from a broken head. And that, when his term 


438 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


of imprisonment was out, he persuaded this youth, Simmons, 
to accompany him in his tramp back to New York. And 
they arrived together at the city, and lived for several 
months at Mrs. Slosh’s house. 

“ The chain of memory is now complete,” said Arthur 
Powis. 'Mt is strange that I could not remember any inci- 
dents of this past year until they were related to me, and 
that then I remembered them as a dream ! But all is grow- 
ing clearer to me day by day.” 

Several days passed, and Arthur Powis grew stronger 
and stronger. But no answer came to his letter to the 
Misses Crane. It was, however, now of little consequence, 
since, from the statement of the sexton, he firmly believed 
that Gladys was not with them, but in the hands of her 
terrible enemy, Mrs. Jay Llewellyn. Arthur grew more 
and more impatient to be gone. 

One morning William Simmons came to him and said : 

“ This is the last visit I shall pay you, Mr. Powis. I am 
come to say good-bye. I am going back to Washington by 
the night train.” 

“ Going back to Washington !” exclaimed Arthur Powis, 
with his eyes lighting up. 

“ Yes ; I can’t get any work here to pay me as high wages 
as I can get there ; so I have made up my mind to go 
back.” * 

“ Simmons !” said Arthur, eagerly, ‘‘ is it necessary that 
you should go to-night ?” 

“ N-no, but I feel as I’m losing time and money every 
day I stay here.” 

“ Oh, then, my good fellow, do me a favor, and I wull 
make up to you all loss of time and money.” 

“Any favor in the world, Mr. Powis !” exclaimed the 
jmung man, with equal cordiality and disinterestedness, for 
one grows very fond of a person whose life he has saved. 

“ Put ofi* your journey till to-morrow morning; then : and 
I will go with you !” 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


439 


You, Mr. Powis exclaimed Simmons, in astonishment. 

Yes ! the docter sa3^s that I can go before the week of 
probation is out, provided I can get any one to go with 
me.” 

Oh, then. I’ll stop and go, of course I I’d stop two or 
three da^^s for you, sir.” 

Thank ^mu, Simmons, I will speak to the doctor. 
Come around and see me this evening, and I will tell you 
what he says.” 

“ I’ll do so, sir. Oood-b}^, sir.” And Simmons went 
away. 

When Doctor Howard made his afternoon visit, Arthur 
Powis broached the subject. But the doctor would not 
consent for his patient to start so soon on so long a jour- 
ney, even in the care of an attendant. But in three days’ 
time he should go. 

When young Simmons came in the evening, Arthur told 
him what the doctor had said. 

^^Very well,” replied the good-natured young fellow; “i 
can wait. Lord bless you, sir, there’s no such hurry, if 
one has got a good reason for stopping.” 

Arthur pressed the rough hand of the workman. 

‘‘ What a good fellow you are, Simmons ; I really love 
you.” 

“ So do I you, sir, I’m sure.” 

After this mutual declaration of attachment, the friends 
parted. 

Arthur Powis announced to Sister Domitia his approach- 
ing departure ; and she cheered him with good wishes and 
bright hopes. 

The doctor kindly advanced money for the expenses of 
the journey. And on the appointed day, a bright, frosty 
Saturday, Arthur Powis, attended by William Simmons, 
took the early train for Washington city. 

The journey was a propitious one. Hope buo^^ed up the 
spirits of Arthur Powis, and enabled him to endure the 
fatigue very well. 


440 


THE BRIDE OF LLET\"ELLYN’. 


They ran into Washington about ten o’clock at night. 
The first thing that Arthur did on reaching the station 
was to inquire what time the Pocahontas steamer left for 
the points of landing down the river; for he wished to 
continue his journey straight through to Kader Idris. He 
was told that the steamer had sailed that evening at seven 
o’clock; but that the Metamora would leave Washington 
for the same points at seven o’clock the next morning. 

So, late as it was, Arthur Powis — unable or unwilling to 
bear the suspense and anxiety of another night, which 
seemed likely to prove the last feather that breaks the 
camel’s back, the last drop that overflows the cup — Arthur 
Powis, I say, resolved to go at once to his old lodgings at 
Ceres Cottage, knock up the old ladies, if they had gone 
to bed, and gain from them all the news of Gladys that 
they might be able to give. 

William Simmons volunteered to go with his friend, and 
see him safely housed before leaving him. And so, they 
hailed a carriage, got into it, and drove toward Ceres 
Cottage. 


CHAPTER XLIIl. 

A NIGHT OP ALARM. 

Grim reader ! did you ever see a ghost ? 

No; but you have heard — I understand — be dumb; 

And don’t regret the time you may have lost, 

Por you have yet that pleasure still to come. — Byron. 

On the same night that saw Gladys again entrapped into 
the x:>ower of her dangerous enemy, the three ancient sisters 
of Ceres Cottage sat together at their old-fashioned fireside. 

Xow that Gladys, with her bright smile and cheerful 
voice and loving ways, had left the house, they felt that 
they were very lonely, and their hearth was veiy dreary. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


441 


For one thing, the fire would not burn well. It was 
made of green oak wood, and instead of blazing cheerily, 
as it ought to have done, it just soughed and sputtered, and 
smoked and smouldered, and oozed moisture from the ends 
of the logs in the most disheartening manner. 

And then the one “ dip” candle that stood upon the 
mantle-shelf to light the room, instead of burning brightly, 
from some defect in the tallow or the wick, sulkily con- 
sumed itself with a dim and lurid yellow flame. 

And worse than all, the night outside was gloomy to the 
last degree of gloom. Since the sun had set, the sky had 
darkened with the double darkness of night and clouds — 
heavy, inky, wind clouds, that moved athwart the sky like 
avalanches of blackness. And the wind was up ; not blow- 
ing at a brisk, hearty rate, like a healthy, inspiring gale ; 
but rising and howling in long drawn wails around the 
world, like some wandering ghost seeking rest ; and then 
dying dolefully away in silence, like the same ghost sinking 
back in despair to its grave. 

The three old sisters drew their chairs closer together 
around the dull fire, and put their slippered feet upon the 
fender, and bent their spectacled eyes over their work, and 
knitted away at those eternal gray woollen stockings, the 
^manufacture of which was always their evening occupation. 

“Ah, deary me ; what a dismal night it is ! And the wind 
do harry my nerves so, with its solemncolly coming and 
going,” said Miss Polly, drawing her needle and sighing. 
“ There it is again ! It ralely do make me think of churcli- 
jmrds and shrouded ghosts ! — oh, lor ! what was that ?” she 
suddenly exclaimed, breaking off in her discourse and seiz- 
ing hold of Miss Milly, as a startling noise in the room 
frightened her. 

“ It’s only the cat after a mouse in the cupboard. Miss 
Polly, ma’am. ’Scat, you huzzy you !” cried Harriet, who 
was busy reeling off yarn in an obscure corner at a respect- 
ful distance from her mistresses. 


442 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Every noise do scare me so to-night,” said Miss Polly, 
apologeticall}^ “ But it is because I feel so low-speritted 
now she’s gone. To think she had been with us such a 
little while, and yet we should get so used to her winning 
ways as to miss her as much as we do ! ’Pears to me I 
wonder how we ever did do without her before she come, or 
how we will ever get along without her now. And what’s 
the worse to bear, it seems to me I can’t help listening, 
and watching for her every minute, and expecting to hear 
her step at the door, and see her come in with her pretty 
smiles and say, ‘ Miss Polly — ’ or something or other. 
And then I remember as she’s gone, and I can’t see her 
face nor hear her voice any more — never no more maybe — 
why the silence just falls on my heart like clods upon a 
coffin. And then ag’in the fire do act so corntraiiy, and so 
do the candle. I know it’s because she’s away ! If she 
w'as here she’d make the fire blaze and the candle burn 
bright ; and then she would sit down and take hold of 
some fine needle-work for us, sich as cap-frills and the like, 
as our old eyes couldn’t see to do, and she would sew at it 
and tell us some pretty story out of the books she had 
read, and oh ! she would make the, winter evening pass 
as happ3^ as the summer’s day. And we wouldn’t mind 
the wind then.” 

“ I wonder if she is out in it yet, or if she has got to her 
journey’s end?” murmured Miss Milly. 

‘‘I hope she has; I do hope she has, poor thing,” said 
Miss Jenny; “and also that Mrs. — Mrs. Fair — Fairfield, 
Fairfax, whatever it is ” 

“ Fairbridge, ma’am,” put in Harriet, from her corner. 

“ Yes — Fairbricks! I hope Mrs. Fairbricks will be good 
to ter and not forget to give her some hot mulled cider 
when she goes to bed, to keep her from catching Cold ; for 
she is only a delicky poor thing ! But I dare say the 
lady’li never think of it.” 

“ You may take 3^our Bible to that. Who ever heard of a 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 443 


proud lady troubling herself about a poor thing ? She’ll 
not do it. And the poor thing will get the dreadfullest 
cold as never was ; and get the newmoney in her chest 
a’gin ; and this time it will kill her ; and her death will be 
on our consciences to the latest hour we live ! and we will 
have to answer for it at the Judgment Day! And, oh! 
what did we let her go for ? what did we for ? When here 
she might have been this identical night, a-brightening and 
a-cheering up of every thing ; and all would have been dif- 
ferent. The fire wouldn’t behave so ugly ; and no more 
would the candle 1 Oh I what did we let her 2:0 for ? 
What did we ?” whimpered Miss Polly. 

“ Why, we couldn’t help of it, Polly. How could we ? 
She would go,” said Miss Jenny. 

“We could a-helped it ! We could a-helped it I” said 
Miss Polly, excitedly. “We could a-helped it, if we had 
tried ! She’d a-stopped long of us, if we had begged her 
hard enough ! But we didn’t. We let her go out in the 
wdde world alone to get her living among strangers. And 
it was all along of our mean, dirty, miserly stinginess and 
selfishness and heartlessness 1 There’s where it was I We 
thought as we wasn’t able to feed her ! Don’t tell me 
nothing more about pirates on the high seas ! We aint a 
bit better than they is I And it’s my belief if we had the 
power we’d be just as bad I yes, and a great deal worse! 
for I never heered tell of a pirate on the high seas yet as 
ever turned a poor, motherless gall out of doors in the 
dead of winter time, too !” 

“Lor’, Polly,” said Miss Jenny, “how you do go on at 
"US ! We never turned her out of doors, and no more aint 
it the dead of winter time.” 

“ It’s all the same ! What’s the use of our reading iu 
our Bible — if you have two coats, give to him that hath 
none ? — when we’ve got a roof over our own heads and let 
her go out in the wide world without a roof over hers ? 
Tell me that ! And all on account of the little bit she’d eat 
and drink, poor dear !” 


444 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“Lor’, Polly,” said Miss Milly, “it wasn’t that I For 
thoiio;h the times is so sca’ce, she was welkim to her share 
of every thing.” 

“ ' Times is so sca’ce !’ ” mocked Miss Polly. “ M^ell, 
and what if they is so sca’ce ? We needn’t a-hought one 
bit more provisions on her account. We needn’t a-put 
a bit more tea in the teapot ! But we could a-put more 
water and drawed it longer ! And same with the soup ; we 
needn’t a-got a bit bigger piece of meat, only put more 
water in and boiled it up more ! And same with every 
thing else. We could a-contrived to a kept her comforta- 
ble, if we had wanted to. Where there’s a will, there’s a 
way ! But we didn’t want to ; and that’s a fact !” 

“Indeed, Polly,” said Miss Jenny, “ I am as sorry she 
has gone as ever you can be. But I don’t think as any 
thing in the world we could a-said to her would a-kept her 
here.” 

“ We might a-tried. We might a-showed our good-will 
by trying; but we wouldn’t. We was too ’fraid she’d 
agree !” said Miss Polly, with the nearest approach to a 
sneer of which her kindly nature was capable. 

“ But ralely and truly now, Polly,” said Miss Milly, 
“ you know as how she was bent on going out and making 
money, not only to support herself, but to pay for keeping 
in of them advertisements for her husband,” said Miss Milly. 

“And oh !” sighed Miss Jenny, “ it were enough to break 
one’s heart to hear her speak so confident, now she was free 
to search, of finding him, who, everybody knows, must a 
been murdered more’n a year ago, and is now, at this iden- 
tical time, a-laying, as you may say, a-mouldering away, 
uncoffined, in a unblessed, lonely grave, where nobody’ll 
never find him no more !” 

“Ah !” screamed Miss Polly, with a shiver — “ stop talk- 
ing about mouldering corpses and unblessed graves ! This 
horrid wind do harry my nerves and torment me so — a- 
moaning and a-sobbing ’round the house, for all the world 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 445 


like a dead and gone human creetur a-trying to get back 
again, till I almost believe it is his onquiet sperrit a-trying 
to get in and tell us who killed him and where he lays 
buried ! And here you are making matters worse, talking 
about murdered men and bloody graves, till it is enough to 

bring his ghost bodily before us ! Glory be to all the 

saints, what was thatV’ 

‘‘ It is nothing at all. Miss Polly, but the dry branches 
of the elm tree a-scraping against the side of the house as 
the wind blows it,” said Harriet, from her corner. 

Lord bless us and save us alive, if it didn’t sound for 
all the world like* skeleton fingers, as it might be his fingers 
a-scratching at the windy-shetters ! But it’s all Jenny’s 
fault, a-bringing of his name up sich a night as this !” 

“ My goodness, Polly, 1 didn’t say no harm. But you’re 
so scarey.” 

“ I aint scarey a bit — not a bit Lor’' Gemini, whaVs 

that V 

■ “ It’s only the nut-trees rattling against the roof, Miss 
Polly,” said Harriet. 

“ Lord preserve us, it was just like the rattling of dry 
bones, as it might be his bones, a-shaking near us ! But 
it’s all owing to her a-putting of him into my head at such 
a time.” 

“ Gracious me, Polly, I didn’t say nothing out’n the way, 
I’m sure ! It’s you that aint yourself to-night.” 

“ I am myself. If I’m not myself, I’d be glad to? know 
who I am. That’s all! I never was more myself than 

I am now Ah-h-h !” screamed Miss Polly, grasping 

her sister Milly — ‘‘there ! you all heard that ! Now, what 
was that 1” 

“It’s me, Miss Polly. I only yawned and fetched a gape 
like, to keep myself awake,” said Harriet. 

“‘Yawned and fetched a gape like!’ Yowling out in 
that onearthly manner in the dead hour of the night ! It 
sounded for all the world as if something had groaned a‘ 


44‘6 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

most horrid groan, as it might be his onhappy sperrit, 
close to my ears I But it all comes of you,’^ said Miss 
Polly, turning and nodding her head at her offending 
sister, “a-talking about your murdered men, and un- 
coffined corpses, and blood}^ graves, until I can almost 
see gory ghosts a-stalking past !’^ 

“ Lors, Polly, you’re a-saying of a great deal more 
horridder things than ever I imaginated to say I” said 
Miss Jenny, with an injured air. 

“ I just wish, for my part, you’d both hold your tongues, 
sisters. I aint scarey, but I can’t abear such talk, speci- 
ally in the dead hour of night. It makes one sort o’ ’fraid 
to look over their shoulder. And it’s downright danger- 
ous, too. For I have heerd tell how, if you keep on think- 
ing about and talking about a murdered corp’, you’ll 
magnify” (Miss Milly probably meant magnetize) “ its 
sperrit and draw it to you till it stands bodily before 3’ou. 
And what would you think, to see him standing right there 
in this room !” 

“ Oh, Milly ! don’t, jdease I Don’t say sich dreadful 
things ! Let’s all say our pra^^'ers and go to bed. It’s 
getting very late — nigh upon eleven o’clock, I should think. 
And who ever heerd tell of our being up so late as that ! 
Come, Harriet — put away your reel and bring your prayer- 
books !” said Miss Polly, as she rolled up her knitting ; and 
her sisters followed her example. 

Harriet lifted her reel into its corner, got down the four 
prayerbooks from the shelf, and was in the act of bringing 
them to her mistress, when the whole circle was startled 
1 by a resounding rap at the door. 

“ Kat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat !” it came as if intended to 
rouse the sleeping. 

“ Glory to all the saints I who is it ?” gasped Miss Polly, 
in terror. 

“ Or what is it, if it aint nothing human ?” shivered Miss 
Milly. 


\ 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 447 

“ They do say as how sperrits rap now like any other 
wisitor,’’ whispered Miss Jenny in an expiring voice. 

“ Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat 1’’ came the raps again. 

“I’m a-gwine to see who it is,” said the matter-of-fact 
Harriet, taking the poker, and leaving the room. 

“ Harriet, Harriet, ask who it is before you open the 
door !” whispered Miss Polly, running after her to give her 
this caution. 

“ Don’t you be feared. I dessay it’s only somebody’s 
mistook this house for some other, or something,” said the 
woman, in a confident voice. 

“ Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat !” came the impatient, not to 
say peremptory, raps again. 

“Will you come in now, or will you wait till I open the 
door ?” inquired Harriet, sarcastically, as she went slowly 
down the passage. 

Miss Polly scuttled back to the sitting-room as fast as 
she could go, and the three sisters waited in affright, lis- 
tening and watching to see what would come next. 

They heard the door open, and then a few words spoken 
by the new-comer, and then a low exclamation from 
Harriet. 

And the next moment the door of the parlor was thrown 
open, and Arthur Powis, ghastly pale and thin from recent 
injuries and illness, and looking indeed like one arisen from 
the grave, entered the room and stood before them. 

With a simultaneous and terrible shriek, the three sisters 
rushed back to one corner of the chimney, and, clinging 
together as if for mutual support, glared at the visitant 
with distended eyes and open mouths and ashen cheeks. 

• I knew you’d ra-ra-raise it with your talk,” stammered 
Miss Polly, in deadly terror. 

“ It’s ma-ma-magnified and drawed to us by our thinking 
of it,” gasped Miss Milly. 

“ How gashly pa-pa-pale it looks,” chattered Miss Jenny. 

“ Spe-spe-speak to it, Milly. You know about speritable 
creeturs,” said the eldest sister. 


448 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ I dar-darn’t,” shuddered the second. 

“ Ma-make Harriet. She spoke to it already and aint 
hurt,” shivered the third. 

At another time Arthur Powis would have smiled at the 
absurd terrors of these old women ; but his life was too 
serious now ; so he said very gravely as he advanced 
toward them : 

“ I beg’ your pardon for having startled you.” 

But still clinging together as closely as they could, the 
three sisters stretched out their right hands, with their 
palms toward the intruder, to keep him off. 

“ Ha-Ha-Harriet don’t know the words,” said Miss 
Polly. 

“ What is the wo-wo-words to speak to a ghost with ?” 
inquired Miss Milly. 

“ Polly knows ’em,” said Miss Jenny. 

“ I’ll try — try — try,” stammered Miss Polly. Then com- 
posing her countenance to an expression of awful so- 
lemnit}^ she intoned the words of'the abjuratioii' — “In the 
name off the blessed angels, and off' the holy saints, and 
off the sacred martyrs, if so be your soul is white, I con- 
jure you to speak and answer me.” 

“ I am afraid I have frightened 3'’Ou very seriously",” said 
Arthur Powis. 

“Nun — nun — nun — not much,” answered Miss Polly, 
with chattering jaws ; “ but in the name of them I said — 
Wliat would you please to leant ? Help me to speak to it, 
sisters. It’s dreadful to talk, all alone with a ghost. And 
see how gashl3' it looks. Oh, I wish it would disappear.” 

“ In the name of them sainted ones as she said— 
do you please to want ? Is it for the burying service to Ibe 
read over 3^011 ?” asked Miss Mill3q coming to the rescue. 

“Or is it to have your bones dug up and laid in conse- 
crated, holy ground ?” inquired Miss Jenny, lending her 
aid. • 

“ Or is it to have your murderer brought to justice and 
.hung upon a gallows?” inquired Miss Poll3^ 


THE BRIDE OF L L E W E L L Y N. 


449 


“ If SO, you must tell us who killed you, and where your 
body was hid, and where 3^011 want to be buried,’’ said Miss 
Milly. 

“ And the saints give us strength to hear the gashly 
story told by ghostly lips,” said Miss Jenny, solemnly. 

“ Why, my dear friends,” replied Arthur, smiling to re- 
assure them, “here is some great mistake. You take 
me for a ghost ? Well, I don’t wonder much, considering 
that I have been supposed to be dead for twelve months, 
and that I must look rather ghostly now with my cadaver- 
ous countenance ; but I am your old friend Arthur Powis, 
or Colonel Pollard, as you preferred to call me, and no 
ghost, but real flesh and blood. Shake hands with me and 
feel for yourselves,” he added, approaching them and hold- 
ing out his hands. 

But with a simultaneous cry the sisters fell back into 
the corner, and extended their hands to keep him off. 

“ This is too absurd. But I will wait and see what comes 
of it,” said Arthur Powis. And he threw himself into a 
chair before the fire, took up the poker and stirred the now 
well dried logs into a blaze, and stretched out his feet to 
enjoy the warmth. 

“ Milly,” said Miss Polly, doubtfully, “ did j’^ou ever hear 
tell of a sperit poking the fire ?” 

“No ; but I’m told they can tip over tables.” 

“ And do a good many other things equalty strange,” 
said Miss Jenny. 

Arthur made himself at home ; and when he had well 
warmed his feet and hands, he got up and went to a side 
table and poured out a tumbler of water and drank it. 

*■“ Milly,” said the eldest sister, “did ever you hear tell 
of a sperit drinking water?” 

“ Never in all my born days.” 

“No more did I,” added Miss Jenny. 

The three sisters peered over their spectacles at the 
object of their curiosity, and began to doubt if he was a 
ghost after all. 

28 


450 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Arthur saw that, and leaning with one elbow on the table, • 
he turned his head toward them and said : 

“ No ; a spirit cannot drink water as I have done ; or eat 
bread, as I shall do, if it is set before me ; for I am very 
hungry, friends.” 

They looked at him doubtfully a little while longer, and 
then Miss Polly ventured to inquire : 

“Are you ralely and truly Colonel Pollard and no mis- 
take?” 

“ I am really and truly myself and no mistake I” 

“ In the body ?” 

“ In the body.” 

“And wasn’t you never killed ?” inquired Miss Milly. 

“ Never.” 

“ Nor buried without a coffin in a lonesome grave ?” ques- 
tioned Miss Jenny. 

“No, indeed.” 

“ Sisters,” said Miss Polly, hesitatingly, “ I think we 
might venture to shake hands with him. What do you 
think ?” 

“I don’t know. He says he aint a ghost; but he do 
look wonderful like one, and that’s the sacred truth. And 
then ag’in, if he hasn’t been in his grave all this time, when 
has he been ? That’s what I want to know,” insisted Mise. 
Milly. 

“And then if we was to go to shake hands with him, and 
our hands was to go right through hizzen like so much 
air I Oh I my good gracious me, it would be the death of 
me !” said Miss Jenny. 

“ Tell you what I” suggested Miss Polly, “ we’ll make 
Harriet feel him ! she’s not afeared I Harriet ! you take 
hold of his arm and feel it good and see if it’s solid.” 

Arthur, with a smile, stretched out his arm to the woman, 
who half laughing, came and took it in her two hands and 
squeezed it well. 

“ It’s solid, Miss Poll}^ — which I meant to say, solid 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 451 

hone. Not much flesh and blood here, the dear knows I 
But it’s no ghost, which I knowed it wasn’t at first ; because 
I knowed Master Arthur the minute I seed him ; and ’sides 
there was another person with him which went away again 
in the same carriage he came in — which you know ghosts 
don’t travel in four-wheeled carriages ! And I could a 
told you so at first, only I knowed it was no use,” said 
Harriet, dropping the arms she had been examining. 

“And so it is you to a dead certainty. Colonel Pollard, 
is it?” inquired Miss Polly, coming out of her corner. 

“ It is I to a living certainty. Miss Polly,” replied Arthur, 
smiling. 

“ And was it the advertisement that fetched you back ?” 
inquired Miss Milly, coming cautiously toward him. 

“ What advertisement ?” asked Arthur. 

“Why what she put in, poor, dear heart ; for you see she 
never would allow as you was dead !” 

“You speak of my dear wife ! And it is of her that I 
am dying to hear. When did you see her last ? Where is 
she ? How is she ? I heard that she was at Kader Idris 
with her guardian I Is it true ?” eagerly inquired Arthur 
Powis, hurrying question upon question in a manner rather 
bewildering to the slow intellects of the old ladies. 

“Yes; no; I don’t know; — -stop a bit; let me think; 
she went away from here this morning,” said Miss Polly. 

“ This morning ? Has she been with you ever since I 
left?” inquired Arthur in astonishment. 

“ Lord, no ; she’s been with her gardeen, who beguiled 
her away from us. But she came back some few days ago, 
and now she’s gone again.” 

“ Where ?” 

“ Gone for a teacher to Mrs. Fairbrickses, at Branesville, 
’tother side of the river ! But where have you been these 
twelve months and more. Colonel Pollard ? That’s what I 
want to know ! And if her advertisement didn’t fetch you 
back, to-night, what did, I should like to be informed ?” 


452 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ My good friend, that is too long a story to enter upon 
to-night. Sometime I will tell it to 3"ou, hut not now ! 
Now I wish to hear about my dear wife. How did her 
guardian entice her from your protection ? And how did 
she escape from the thraldpm and get back to you ? And 
why has she gone out as a governess 

“ ‘ good friend,’ ” said Miss Polly, pointedly, “ ‘ that 
is entirely too long a stor}^ to enter upon to-night.’ It’s 
getting well on to twelve o’clock. And just now you said 
you was hungry. And so we must get you something to 
eat and drink and put off the stories until to-morrow I 
One thing though I’ll tell you to stay your stomach — she’s 
well; and the place she has gone to is just an easy day’s 
ride from the city. There now ! let that do for to-night ! — 
And now, Harriet, you put the kettle on. We’ll give j^ou 
some chocolate. Colonel Pollard, instead of tea or coffee, 
which would keep you broad awake all night. Milly, my 
dear, 3- on scrape down the chocolate — and Jenny set the 
table and put the cold chicken-pie and the cold ham on it I 
ITou see we had them to-day for Tier,” said Miss Polly, 
rising to leud her aid. 

As soon as it was possible to prepare it, a good supper 
was placed upon the table ; and Arthur sat down and did 
ample justice to it. 

When it was over, he bade his kind hostess 2:ood-nia:ht 
and followed his leader, Harriet, up to the room that had so 
latel}^ been occupied by Glad3^s. 

‘•'Her room,” murmured Arthur to himself. “Ah! if I 
had come one day sooner !” 

Although it was long after midnight before the three - 
“ wierd sisters,” finally got rid of their alarming nocturnal 
visitor, so far at least as to get him off to his own room, 
yet they themselves did not feel quite like retiring to bed ; 
so they gathered closer around their dying fire. 

The truth is, that although the old ladies had seen their 
guest eat with appetite a full quarter of a large chicken-pie 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 453 

and drink with relish four or five cups of chocolate, and 
that they rather believed that such was not the habit of dis- 
embodied spirits, who w^ere generally supposed neither to 
require food nor drink ; yet, for all that, they could not at 
once get rid of the deep ghostly impression that had been 
made upon their imaginations. 

“jS^o wonder as we was scared nearly to death! The 
Hero of Watermelon himself would a-been scared under sich 
circumstances,” said the eldest sister. 

‘^Yes ;o^e was a-settin’ here alone in the dead o’ night 
with the wind a-howlin’ and the trees a-rattlin’ and the house 
a-creakin’ ; and a-talkin’ about ghosts — especially about his 
onquiet ghost, as we naterally thought must be a-wanderin’ ; 
— when lo 1 and behold ! in walks him, as we had give up for 
murdered more’n a year ago I Tell you, it was ’nough to 
scare any body!” said the second sister. 

• ‘‘And did any body in this world ever see a living man 
with such a livid face ? He did look just as if he had broke 
out of a vault,” added the third sister. 

“ I sha’n’t get over the scare for a month.” 

“No more shall I.” 

“ Nor I.” 

“ But to think of his coming the very day she went off, 
poor thing,” said Miss Polly. 

“ Serves him right for not coming before,” said Miss 
Milly. 

“ Oh, he’ll be after her fast enough to-morrow morning,” 
added Miss Jenny, nodding her head knowingly. 

“I wonder where on yeth he’s been all this time?” pon- 
dered Miss Polly. 

“Aye ! that’s it ! where ?” solemnly demanded Miss Milly, 
setting her spectacles up. 

“ He has promised to^ell us all about that to-morrow,” 
explained Miss Jenny. 

“ Lor ! wont he be mad, neither, when he hears how they 
treated her ?” said Miss Polly. 


454 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


‘‘Aye I indeed I I wouldn’t like to be in Mr. Stu — Stui^or 
— Stewpan — Stupid’s place,” said Miss Milly. 

“ No, indeed ; for they do say as these milinary and 
navial officers don’t mind shooting a villain down dead, 
more’ll I do killing of a spider,” said Miss Jenny. 

“And serve him right, too, for wanting to marry another 
man’s wife. Set him up with it, indeed ! What’s the world 
coming to, I wonder,” sniffed Miss Polly. 

“ I say, young ladies,” said Harriet, who had now finished 
clearing away the table and making the room tidy, “it’s 
nigh upon one o’clock ! Shall I fetch more wood and make 
the fire burn for you to watch all night, or shall I kiver up 
the fire, and let you go to bed ?” 

“ Qh, Harriet, cover up the fire, of course ; we will go to 
bed,” answered Miss Milly. 

“ I had no idea it was so late,” sighed Miss Jenny. 

And the three sisters went up stairs together, and all 
slept in- the same bed for fear of ghosts. 


CHAPTER XLIY. 

THE NEXT morning’s NEWS. 


And with the morn he sought and found, 

In many a tale from tliose around, 

The proof of all he feared to know. 

Their fearful guilt; 7icr bitter woe; 

All circumstauce that may compel 
Full credence to the tale they tell ; 

And now his tortured heart and ear 
Have nothing more to feel or hear. — Byron. 


Tije next morning everybody in that house overslept 
themselves. 

It was after nine o’clock when Miss Polly awoke, and it 
was nearly ten before she quite collected her thoughts and 
remembered what had happened, and who w’as her guest. 
Then she started up and shook her companions, crying out : 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


455 


Milly 1 Jenny I wake up I My good gracious me alive, 
it must be all hours of the day I It is ever so late I And 
Colonel Pollard on a visit here, too ; and how will he get 
his breakfast in time ; and what will he think of us 

The other two sisters slowly waked up, and crept out of 
bed, and tottered to their feet, and sleepily began their 
plain morning toilets. 

Miss Polly did not wait for them. She dressed herself 
in a great hurry, and went down stairs where she found 
fires already lighted in the sitting-room and in the kitchen, 
and Harriet busy over the preparation of the breakfast. 

‘‘Lor, Harriet ! how I did oversleep myself, to be sure I 
How long has you been up inquired her mistress, almost 
apologetically. 

“ This two hour. I never oversleeps myself. Only 
young ladies as sees ghosts are privileged to do that,” 
replied the woman, gruffly. 

“Well, I couldn’t help of it, Harriet. But as you was 
up so airly, why upon the yeth didn’t you give Colonel 
Pollard his breakfast, and not keep him waiting all this 
while? You know very well how it is with men, both 
gentle and simple. They can’t one on ’em abide to wait a 
single minute for their wittles. And when they has got to 
wait they growls to themselves like bears with bruised 
heads. And even if they don’t say ‘dam,’ they always 
thinks it. You know they do. You know how it is with 
brother Peter when he stops long of us, although he is a 
priest. And even suppose Colonel Pollard is a rale gen- 
tleman as wouldn’t say any thing, or look any thing, to 
hurt any body’s feelings, still he may think a great deal, 
and so you ought to have given him his breakfast.” 

“ Well, if 3 "ou’d let me get in a word edgeways,” grum- 
bled Harriet, “ I could tell you as how I couldn’t give him 
his breakfast, for two or three good reasons. In the first 
place, you had the ke^'s.” 

“Lor, had I'? Well, here they are,” said Miss Polly, 
fumbling in her pocket and producing them. 


456 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“And so I couldn’t get at the coffee and sugar. And, 
in the second place, Colonel Pollard aint out’n his bed, j^et, 
any more’n the rest of you.” 

“ Lor ! aint he ? I’m so glad ! I was afraid he was up 
and hungry. Well, we wont have him called until break- 
fast is almost ready,” said Miss Polly, eagerly, as she 
began to assist in preparing the morning meal. 

The other sisters soon came down. 

And by the time the coffee, hot rolls and beefsteak were 
ready to go on the table, Arthur Powis, without giving any 
one the trouble of calling him, quietly walked into the 
parlor. 

“ Well, I shall not appall you this fine morning, my good 
friends, I hope ? You wdll not need to resort to any of 
the formulas of ecclesiastical exorcism, will you ?” inquired 
Arthur, smilingly. 

“No,” said Miss Polly, who did not understand half of 
this address, and took the word “appall” to mean apolo- 
gize. “No ; but you do look quite as gashly this morning 
as you did last night. You have been ill ?” 

“ Very ill,” replied Arthur. 

“Harriet, bring in the breakfast right away,” ordered 
Miss Polly, who had a firm faith in “ wittles” being the 
grand panacea for all “ the ills that men, at least, are 
heir to.” 

The morning meal was soon set smoking hot upon the 
table. And the sisters and their guest sat down to enjoy it. 

Arthur Powis had a great deal on his mind — a large 
amount of work planned to be done as soon as it should be 
possible for him to do it. He had to go to the Secretary 
of the Navy and prove, with the aid of such witnesses and 
certificates as he could bring, that he was the long-missing 
Lieutenant Arthur Powis, and that his long absence from 
duty was in no way his own fault. And then he must seek 
Gladys, and, lastly, he must begin proceedings against 
Mrs. Llewellyn — not for her criminal practices against his 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


457 


own life, but for her abuse of the trust that had been given 
her in making her the guardian of Miss Llewellyn. 

All these things weighed heavily upon the mind of Arthur 
Powis as he sat down to the breakfast-table and while he 
discussed the meal. 

If he had not heard from the old ladies that Gladys, in 
the humble but respectable position of a governess, was 
safely sheltered in a home of peace ; if he had supposed that 
she was at Kader Idris, exposed to the ruthless machina- 
tions of Mrs. Llewellyn, he would have made her immediate 
deliverance the first business of his life. But as she was 
represented to be in a place of safety and repose, he deemed 
it his first duty to set himself right with the Navy Depart- 
ment. But even this duty could not be done to-day, since 
none of the public departments were ever open on the Sab- 
bath. He would be obliged to wait until the next day, 
Monday, before he could present himself to the Secretary 
of the Navy. And such being the case, he might, perhaps, 
try to see Gladys to-day. True, it was not exactly eti- 
quette for a stranger to intrude himself upon the Sabbath 
seclusion of a private family ; but surely in his case the 
circumstances would justify the act, he thought. A man 
violentl^^ separated from his wife for more than a year had 
a risht to seek her when and where he could find her, he 
decided. And so he resolved to go to Dranesville to seek 
Gladys that very day. 

Of course he was very silent while turning these subjects 
over in his mind — so silent that Miss Polly grew uneasy,, 
and asked him if any thing in particular ailed him. 

‘‘No, my good friend ; I was only thinking whether — 
Sunday as it is — I could not go to see Gladys to-day. 
How does one travel to Dranesville 

“ Why, you take the boat to Alexandria, and then the 
stage-coach to Dranesville. But there don’t no stage run 
on Sundays.” 

“ That doesn’t matter ; I could get a horse at Alex- 
andria.” 


458 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Then, if you’re gwine to ride, you’d better get a horse 
at Washington, and ride the whole way ; it will save time, 
and chopping and changing about with cabs and boats.” 

“ You are quite right, Miss Polly. I will attend to it at 
once,” said Arthur Powis, rising from the table. 

“ Now where are you off to ?” demanded his hostess. 

To a livery-table to get a horse.” 

“ Now you stay where you are. Colonel Pollard I There 
aint no livery-stable in a mile of this place ; but if you will 
be quiet, ^ will send Harriet over to Brother Peter, and 
he’ll lend you the loan of his white cob as will carry you 
beautiful, which he will be delighted to do it, for her sake I 
And while Harriet is gone, you know, you can tell us the 
story of where you have been all this time, as we all thought 
you was dead.” Miss Polly uttered this last clause in so 
imploring a tone that Arthur Powis could not but comply 
with her request. 

As he seated himself, she went out and despatched Har- 
riet on her errand. And then she came back, and with the 
help of her sisters she hastily cleared up the breakfast- 
table and swept up the hearth. 

And then she sat down in the chimney-corner, put up her 
spectacles over her cap, composed herself to listen to 
a good gossipping story, and said : 

“ Now then, begin. Colonel Pollard.” 

Her sisters came and softly seated themselves on the 
opposite side of the chimney-corner, and waited eagerly 
for the story. 

And Arthur Powis, occupying the seat of honor in the 
arm-chair, immediately in front of the fireplace, commenced 
and related the history of the last year of his life. 

There had been a little struggle in his mind about it. 
In telling them the truth, he had been tempted not to tell 
them the whole truth. He had no desire to exhibit himself 
to these old ladies in the character of a crazy hod-bearer. 
But when he looked in their simple, sincere^ earnest faces, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


459 


he felt that he could not withhold from them any part of 
his tragic story. 

And oh ! with what attentive countenances, with what 
uplifted hands and eyes they listened to the narrative ! 
They occasionally nodded, or otherwise telegraphed their 
impressions to each other ; but they did not, even by word, 
or an exclamation, interrupt him. He made his story just 
as short as possible. And when he had finished it. Miss 
Polly drew a deep breath and exclaimed : 

“And so ralely was you just as she first thought it 
was when she seen you in the church ; though afterward 
they almost proved to her as it could not a been you, but 
was a rale hod-bearer ; which besides all that, fell offen the 
top of a house and was killed on the spot !” 

“ Did they make my wife believe that 

“ In course they did ; and I think, from what she told 
me, as they must a believed it theirselves.” 

“ She told you all that had happened to her while she 
was in the power of that infamous woman, did she not?” 

“ In course she did — every word on it.” 

“ Tell it to me ! and especially tell me by what means 
she was forced or betrayed into consenting to that horrible 
marriage,” said Arthur Powis, eagerly. 

“ Why, by them drugs, to be sure. They gave her stupe- 
fying drugs to take away her senses, so as they could do 

as the}^ pleased with her, and so Oh ! oh ! oh ! Colonel 

Pollard, what is the matter with you, sir ?” Miss Polly sud- 
denly broke off and exclaimed, as Arthur Powis sprang 
up and began to pace the floor with wild strides, exclaiming : 

“ They shall pay the full penalty of their crimes ! That 
man shall die ! and that woman shall languish in prison for 
all the remaining years of her infamous life !” 

“Well, so they shall, my dear; and go to purgatory 
afterward ! onl}^ don’t go on so, that’s a dear. You do 
harry my nerves awftd. And you see I aint as young as I 
used to be,” said Miss Polly, coaxingly, as if she had been 
speaking to a child. 


460 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


Arthur Powis returned to his seat. 

“ Tell me, my good friend,” he said — “ tell me, straight 
through, the whole story of Gladys’ wrongs and sufferings, 
from the time she missed me to this present time.” 

“ Well, I will, if you will listen quietly,” said Miss 
Polly. 

But for Miss Polly to tell a story straight'through was an 
utter impossibility. She had no faculty for narration, no 
idea of time, place, and unity ; and she jumbled up summer, 
winter, autumn and spring — Forest Lodge, New York, Ka- 
der Idris and -Norfolk — in the most distracting manner. 
And at the least sign of impatience from Arthur Powis she 
became so perplexed as to be utterly unintelligible. 

It was only by the most patient and careful cross-ex- 
amination that Arthur Powis was enabled to arrive at any 
thing like the truth of Gladys’ story. 

“You say, dear Miss Polly, that my poor Gladj^s be- 
came the mother of a little girl while sta^dug in that house 
in New York?” he asked, at one point in her confused 
narrative. 

“ No, no, I didn’t. It was a wax doll, and she used to 
sing Pursy All-u-m’s son to it; that was when she was 
stupefied with them drugs.” 

“ Perdition ! oh !” 

“Now don’t. Colonel Pollard — don’t! that’s a dear. It 
do harry my nerves so’.” 

“ Where was the babe born, then. Miss Polly ?” 

“ It wasn’t born nowhere, dear ; it was a wax doll, I 
keep a telling you.” 

“ But,” said Arthur, putting a strong constraint upon 
liimself, and speaking very mildly, “ you told me that my 
dear Gladys had a child.” 

“ Oh, yes ! but that was before that.” 

“Where was her child born, and under what circum- 
stances ?” 

“ Stop — let me see. It was in the country somewhere, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


461 


at a place called wait a minute — I’ll tell you called 

llout — Gout — Trout — yes, that’s it ! — Trout’s Point. And 
the doctor as waited on her took the child to put it out 
to nuss ” 

“ And the doctor’s name ; what was that ?” 

“ Wait a bit I The doctor’s name ? It had something to 
do with kindfolks, I know. Doctor Mother — Brother — 
Brotherwell? No — it ended with a ‘ton.’ Mother — 
Motherton — that was it! Dr. Motherton took the child 
to put to nuss, and they all went to New York to that 
house where she was shut up in the fourth story, and used 
to amuse herself singing Pursy Allum’s son.” 

“And,” inquired Arthur, in breathless anxiety, “the 
child — did I understand you to say that the child died ?” 

“ Lor, no ! How could it die when it was a wax doll ? 

No; when she got over the drugs, she was so misgusted 
with her own foolishness, as she called it, and the dangers 
as it had led her into, that she went and flung the doll 
away, wdiich was a sort of pity, too, seeing as the poor, 
onsensible immidge had been a kind of comfort to her.” 

“ Oh, Miss Polly 1 Miss Polly! I am not asking after 
any wax doll ! I am asking after my wife’s own dear child, 
that you tell me was born at Prout’s Point.” 

“But goodness me. Colonel Pollard! I am talking of 
what happened in New York ! I can’t help it if you can’t 
understand ! I do suppose yonr head is weak, all along of 
being knocked about so much !” answered Miss Polly, a 
little impatiently, in her turn. 

“ No, you cannot help it,” said Arthur Powis, gently and 
sadly. “You cannot help it ! I must get the whole story 
from my dear, wronged love, as soon as I see her, which, 
please Heaven, shall be before this day’s sun sets !” 

And, as the horse that had been sent for his use had been 
standing for about ten minutes before the door, Mr. Powis 
arose to prepare for his departure. 

“You will please to give me directions how to proceed y 
after arriving at Dranesville ?” said Arthur. 


462 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“I don’t know as we can ; but yon might find out by 
lookino- at the letters as Mrs. Fairbricks writ to her, for 
her guidance I She left them all here, in her bureau drawer, 
and here is the key,” said Miss Polly, taking a small key 
from a basket and handing it to Arthur. 

The young man took it with a smile of thanks, anc^ im- 
mediately went up stairs to his room, and went to the 
bureau and unlocked Gladys’ drawer. 

There lay all her letters neatly tied together. With a 
loving reverence he took these letters, untied them and 
began to look over them, one after another. The first three 
were from Mrs. Elizabeth Fairbridge, and were dated from 
Fairbridge, near Dranesville. But they contained no fur- 
ther directions how to reach her house. 

“ Well! I suppose I must go to Dranesville, and then in- 
quire the road to Fairbridge !” said Arthur, to himself. 

Then he mechanically took up a fourth letter, and looked 
at it with the curiosity and interest he felt in every thing 
great and small that concerned Gladys. 

But the moment his eye fell upon the postmark he 
started ; for it was “ Front’s Point.” The letter was in fact 
that forged letter, purporting to be from Dr. Thomas 
Brotherton, and pretending to describe the death of Gladys’ 
child ; and which the poor girl had ever since preserved 
with a religious carefulness. 

“Ah ! this will tell me something of my dear wife’s 
child !” said Arthur, to himself, as he eagerly opened it. 

Three thin old bank-notes dropped out; but Arthur 
slightly brushed them aside, as his eyes devoured the con- 
tents of the letter. 

“So her babe died! She had that trial, too, to bear 
alone, poor darling ! Heaven’s will be done I But from 
this time I hope, with Heaven’s favor, to comfort her 
for all past trials, and shield her from all future ones 1” 
said Arthur Powis, as he folded up the letter and placed it 
in his bosom. He was about to close the drawer, when his 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 463 

eyes fell upon the three thin old bank-notes, and he care- 
lessly picked them up, supposing them to be of small value ; 
but when he looked at them his countenanpe changed and 
lighted up I 

Each note was a five hundred dollar one. 

“ Fifteen hundred dollars I” exclaimed Arthur Powis, in 
astonishment. Then, after a moment’s reflection, he added : 
“ This must be the money my dear love supposed that she 
had lost, and of which the old ladies told me I But how 
ever could it have got here ?” He reflected a little longer, 
and then exclaimed : 

“Oh! I see! My poor love, doubtless, put it here her- 
self for better security ; but did it in a fit of absence of 
mind, and afterward, in the terrors of her position and the 
hurry of her flight, she forgot that she had changed its 
hiding-place. And even when the money was missed, and 
when they were all looking for it, they might have turned 
this letter over a dozen times without ever suspecting what 
it contained — these thin notes take up so little room in 
the folds; and they certainly never could have found it 
unless she had chanced to recollect where she had put it. 
With this solution of the mystery, which was probably the 
right solution, Arthur Powis put the three notes in his 
pocketbook, and replaced the letters and locked the drawer 
and ran down stairs to tell the three old ladies of this piece 
of good fortune. 

“ Well, I never did exclaimed Miss Polly. “ Who 
ever would have thought of looking inside of a little letter 
for so much money as all that comes to ? I looked about 
for a roll of bank-notes as thick as your arm. Colonel 
Powis ! and this little bit the fifteen hundred dollars as 
was lost! Why it don’t look to me to be more’n three 
dollars !” 

Arthur Powis showed her the figures on each note and 
then replaced them in his pocketbook. 

And then he took his great coat, that Miss Polly had 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

hung upon the back of a chair before tlie fire to warm ; put 
it on ; drew on his gloves ; took his hat ; bade an affection- 
ate good-by to each of his hostesses, mounted his horse and 
rode off in search of his lost lady-love. 


♦ 


CHAPTER XLY. 

A RIDE IN SEARCH OF A LOST LOVE. 

Let winter come ! Let polar spirits sweep 
The darkening w'orld and tempest-troubled deep, 

Though boundless snows the withered heath deform, 

And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm ; 

Yet shall the smile of constant love repay 
With beaming light the melancholy day ! 

And when its short and sullen noon is o’er 
The ice-bound waters slumbering on the shore. 

How bright the fagots in the little hall 

Blaze on the hearth and warm the pictured wall. — Campbell. 

The steed upon which Arthur Powis went forth to his 
adventure was certainly not a very handsome horse ; it 
was a stout, short-bodied white cob, better built for service 
and safety than for elegance and display. And, upon the 
whole, it was a verj^ good horse for the forty miles of 
rough road and hard riding that lay before it. 

As the young man rode away from the gate of Ceres 
Cottage he looked up anxiously at the sky. 

The day that had dawned so brightly, was now darkened 
with clouds that threatened snow. 

And by the time he reached the Long Bridge that 
crosses the Potomac river, the snow was beginning to sift 
downward in that fine, white downy dust that promises a 
long continued fall, and two or three feet of depth. 

This gave him some uneasiness ; but still he hoped to 
reach the point of his destination before the roads should 
become impassible. And he fully resolved, be the weather 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 465 

or his health what they might, he would go on to Dranes- 
ville and see Gladys that night. 

So, as soon as he was across the bridge he put whip to 
his horse and started at a good pace for Alexandria, which 
was the first stage of his journey. 

By the time he reached the sleepy old town, the ground 
and the roofs of the houses were well covered with snow. 
He did not pause, but rode directly through the slumber- 
ous streets and took the road to Dranesville. 

The greater part of his way now lay through a thick 
forest, whose closely entangled boughs and twigs were now 
covered with snow instead of leaves — clothed in virgin 
white instead of fairy green. 

As he rode onward through the wintry woods, he also, 
with his steed, became thickly covered with snow : so that 
both together looked not unlike the figure of Death on the 
Pale Horse. 

It was quite late in the afternoon when — cold, tired, and 
hungry — he reached the little village called Fairfax Court 
House, which was the second stage of his journey. 

He rode through the deep snow up to the inn, where a 
number of weather-bound travellers were already taking 
shelter from the thickening storm. 

“ Have your horse put up, sir inquired the negro host- 
ler, who took the reins from his hands as he sprang from 
the saddle. 

“No,” replied Mr. Powis, shaking the snow from his 
clothing ; “ but take him under shelter somewhere ; take 
the saddle off him, rub him down, and give him a good 
feed of corn.” 

And as the man led the horse away, the rider walked 
into the parlor of the inn, where a number of half frozen 
travellers, in riding-coats and top-boots, were standing 
around a huge hickory wood fire and discussing the incle- 
mency of the weather and other subjects. 

A waiter entered to take the orders of the new comer. 

29 


466 


THE B E I I) E OP" LI. E W E L L Y N. 


“A room, sir?” he inquired, with a how. 

“ No : but you may bring me a cup of strong coffee and 
a plate of beefsteak immediately.” 

The w’aiter went out to fill this order, and Mr. Powis 
walked up to the fire to dry his coat. 

The other travellers, who had arrived before him, and 
had been around the hearth for some time, were now so 
well w^armed and dried that they were beginning to be 
roasted. So with one accord they fell back to make room 
for the new comer, and dropped into arm-chairs in groups 
about the room. 

Arthur Powis stood alone on the rug, with his back to 
the fire. Wrapt in his own thoughts, he paid no attention 
to the conversation that was going on around him, until 
the words of one of the speakers suddenly roused his 
attention, and set his every sense upon the alert. 

“ I am sure it was the same 3^01111 g lady that came alone 
in the Alexandria coach to Dranesville yesterday after- 
noon. Because I was there taking a drink and giving my 
horse a feed when the coach drove up, and she alighted 
and went into the house — quite alone. And I noticed 
then what a pale, pretty creature she was. And in a little 
while there w^as a handsome green close carriage drove up 
to the house — a carriage that I know didn’t belong to our 
neighborhood — for I think I know every carriage in it — 
four-wheeled and two-wheeled. And no one got out of 
this one. But a lady, thickly vailed, put her head out of 
the door and spoke to the landlord, w^ho, 3^011 see, had 
gone out himself to meet an arrival which came in such a 
handsome travelling-carriage. And the landlord called a 
waiter and sent a message into the house. And presently 
the solitary young lady came out, and the landlord handed 

her into the carriage and shut the door, and Well ! 1 

never saw horses start off at such a gait in my life ! I 
thought they had run away wdtli the carriage. But it ap- 
pears the}" hadn’t ; but I suppose they were blood horses, 
and that was their W"ay. When I asked old Briggs who 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 467 

these female swells was, he said he didn’t know ; that the 
young lady had come up from W ashington to meet the old 
lady, he believed; but that they were both total strangers 
to him, as neither of them belonged to this part of the 
country. And indeed I knew of myself that they didn’t ; 
but I thought old Briggs knew the names of his own 
guests. That is all I know about it ; but I feel morally 
certain that it is the same party you speak of.” 

‘‘Yes, I think there is no doubt of it,” said another 
farmer. 

“ Excuse me, sir, if you please, but — what party are you 
speaking of?” said Arthur Powis, approaching the group 
of talkers. 

“ Why, sir, a strange party and a strange circumstance 
as ever you heard of,” said a third traveller — a stout man 
in a gray surtout coat and top boots — “if this weren’t a 
respectable part of the country, and if these weren’t peace- 
able times, I should say — looking back on it, that it was a 
case of kidnapping or highway robbery, or murder, or some- 
thing.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, go on ! What was it ?” demanded 
Arthur Powis, thrilled with a vague alarm. 

“ Well, you see, sir,” said a stout traveller in gray, “ I 
belong to Centreville. And having business down in 
Washington, I left home yesterday morning and had ridden 
to within about a half a mile of Dranesville, when, in the 
road there that goes through the old woods, I suddenly, at 
the same time, heard dreadful, heart-rending screams, and 
saw a dark green carriage dashing along the road that I 
^was riding on. I thought of course that the horses had run 
away with the carriage. And I jumped off my horse to run 
and seize the leader’s head and stop them. And while I 
■was running toward the horses and the horses toward me, 
I caught a glimpse of a young, pale, scared-looking face, 
thrust, screaming, out of the window one minute and 
snatched back the next. Well, I thought, naturally enough, 


468 


THE B H I D E OF LLEWELLYN. 


that she was frightened at the running horses, and was 
trying to jump out to save herself, and very imprudently, 
too ; because she might have been killed in the attempt. 
And I thought some one inside more self-possessed than 
herself had pulled her in again. Anyway, all these thoughts 
passed through my mind like lightning as I made a dash 
forward and seized the leader and stopped the running 
horses ” 

'‘A'ou stopped them?’’ breathlessly demanded Arthur 
Powis. 

“ Yes, and now mind what followed ! The minute I laid 
my hand on the leader’s bit and the horses reared, the 
driver, instead of holding them in, just raised himself in 
his seat and hit me a clip over the head with the butt end 
of his whip, and then lashed his horses into a run again. 
And I just had time to reel back to save myself from being 
thrown down and trampled to death when ” 

“They got off?” demanded Arthur, 

“ They whirled up the road like a tornado, leaving me 
standing there confounded ! I am sorry now that I had 
not had the presence of mind to mount my horse and gal- 
lop after the carriage to see what came of it. But there ! I 
had not, and that’s the truth ! So after I had recovered 
myself a little, I mounted m}^ horse and pursued my jour- 
ney. I did not put up at Dranesville, last night, or I might 
have heard more about that party, but I put up at a friend’s 
house. And now, all I have got to say is this : if ever I di 
meet with that brute of a coachman again, and fail to 
thrash him into better manners, I hope he’ll finish me the 
next time he assaults me, that’s all I” And the man in the 
gray surtout took his pipe from his pocket and filled it, 
and went to the fireplace to light it. 

“And I am sure, sir,” said the first traveller who had 
spoken, “ quite sure that it was the same party that left 
Dranesville about the same time.” 

“ Yes, I think that is reduced to a certainty,” answered 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 469 

Arthur Powis. And then he added mentally — “ and to an 
equal certainty that my dearest love has been again en- 
trapped into the power of that ruthless woman.” 

At this moment the waiter entered to say that the gen- 
tleman’s lunch was ready in the dining-room, and Arthur 
Powis left the parlor and went thither. 

“ Have my horse brought around immediately,” he said, 
as he seated himself at the table. 

The waiter left the room to give the proper directions. 
And Arthur Powis tried to benefit by the meal that had 
been placed before him. 

In vain I Appetite was entirely destroyed by excessive 
anxiety. He drank the cofiee as a duty. And then he got 
up and buttoned his surtout closely, drew on his gloves, 
and took his hat and hurried to the front door to see if his 
horse was ready. 

The unlucky beast, whose evil fate it was to be compelled 
to carry his rider over eighteen, twenty, or more miles of 
a rough road, through a tempestuous night, on an adven- 
ture in which he felt not the slightest personal interest, 
stood ready-saddled at the horse-rack, and testifying his 
impatience not to be off, but to be in. 

The landlord, the waiter, the hostler, and several of the 
guests of the house, were waiting in the hall for a look at 
the traveller who was mad enough to take the road on such 
a night as that. 

The weather outside was, in fact, appalling. It was not 
yet dark — scarcely twilight, in fact — but the snow lay so 
thick upon the ground that it was half way up to the tops 
of the fences, and it was still falling fast. 

“You will surely think better of it, sir, and not venture 
out,” said the landlord. 

“I am obliged to go,” was Arthur’s straight-forward 
reply. 

“ How far do you travel, sir ?” inquired a sympathetic 
neighbor. 


470 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ To Dranesville,” answered Arthur. 

“To Dranesville !” echoed the whole company in con- 
sternation. 

“ It is a good twenty mile from here,” said the traveller 
in the gray surtout. 

“ You’ll never see Dranesville to-night, sir,” said the 
landlord. 

“ I will make the attempt, at any rate, friends. Good- 
night to you I” exclaimed Arthur Powis, as he vaulted into 
his saddle and rode off, flinging up clouds of snow-dust 
behind his horse’s heels. 

“He’s after that party I that’s my opinion,” said the 
stout traveller in gray. 

“ If he is, he wont fall in with them to-night,” said 
another. 

“ I’ll tell you what I You’ll hear of a man being found 
frozen to death in the snow I” said the landlord, as he and 
his guests returned to the house. 

Meanwhile, Arthur Powis pushed on in a cloud of snow 
— snow lying thickly on the ground under him ; snow 
falling fast around him ; and snow flung up in W'hirls by 
his horse’s hoofs. Himself and his horse were soon cov- 
ered with snow, and moved onward an equestrian snow- 
ball through the storm of snow. 

Snow, snow, snow, everywhere; above, around, and be- 
neath ; nothing but snow I 

It was as if heaven and earth were resolving themselves 
into snow I 

Hot a soul did Arthur meet in that solitary ride, through 
the snow-laden forest I not a soul in the world seemed 
desperate enough to venture out on such a night as that. 

Hot a living creature did he see except an occasional 
squirrel limping half frozen into its hole in the hollow of 
some tree — or a poor little belated bird flitting across his 
path and hastening to its home. 

Hight deepened ; and it soon grew so dark that he could 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 471 

not even see the snow, but only feel it falling fast upon his 
face and sifting into every opening of his garments ; — so 
dark that he had to trust to the instinct of his horse to 
keep the middle of the dangerous road. 

Still Arthur pressed onward. 

The remainder of his night’s journey was perfectly inde- 
scribable in its danger, horror, and difficulty. It was one 
persistent pressure onward through darkness, tempest and 
peril. 

It was ten o’clock when both rider and horse, more dead 
than alive, entered the village of Dranesville and stopped 
at the inn. 

There were lights shining from the windows of the 
parlor and of the bar-room ; but there was not a ereature 
visible outside the house. 

Arthur dismounted, so stiff that he could scarcely stand 
or walk, and fumbled about until he found a place to fasten 
his horse, and then he went up to the house and entered 
the bar-room. 

There was the barkeeper at his post, and there were a 
few customers sitting around the open wood fire. And all 
these turned in astonishment to stare at the “ Snow Man” 
that had walked in bodily before them — looking as if he 
were an incarnation of winter or storm. 

Will you send somebody to look after my horse,” said 
Arthur, stepping up to the bar. 

The half-stupefied barkeeper rang his bell for the hostler, 
who presently made his appearance. 

“ Take my horse to the stable ; rub him down dry with 
straw ; give him a warm mash, and cover him with a 
blanket. Hang the saddle where it will dry before morn- 
ing,” said Arthur. 

The hostler nodded rather ill-humoredl}^ at being unex- 
pectedly called upon to do his duty at so late an hour, on 
such a tempestuous night. 

Arthur Powis turned again to the barkeeper. 


472 THE BRIDE O F L L E W E L L Y N. 

“ I want Slipper in a private sitting-room. And I wish 
to see the landlord immediately on business.’’ 

“Yes, sir,” said the barkeeper, ringing for the waiter, 
who immediately^ entered. 

“ Show this gentleman into Yumber Three, and take his 
orders for supper. Then go and see if Mr. Briggs is still 
out of bed. And if he is, tell him that a gentleman in 
Number Three is waiting to see him on business.” 

The waiter lighted a candle and led th’e way into a small 
sitting-room, where there was a fire nearly burnt out. 

“ What would you please to have for supper, sir ?” 

“ Any thing at all that is ready. I want to see the land- 
lord, first of all.” 

The waiter replenished the fire from a box of wood that 
was near at hand, and then went out to perform his errands. 

Arthur Powis took off his wet overcoat and hung it up, 
and then drew a chair to the fire to dry his feet, while he 
waited for the landlord. 

“ Old Briggs,” as he was generally called, soon after- 
ward entered. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he said, addressing his 
new guest. 

“ Yes ; I wished to talk with you for a few minutes. Sit 
down.” 

The landlord drew a chair opposite to that of his guest ; 
seated himself ; placed his hands on his knees ; and looked 
attentive and interested. 

“ There was a young lady arrived here last night by the 
Alexandria coach ?” 

“ There was, sir !” said the landlord, solemnly, as though 
he had been answering a question propounded by the bench 
in open court, that might have concerned a murder. 

“ Do you know the name of that young lady ?” 

“ I do not, sir,” replied the landlord, looking equally 
full of solemnity and curiosity ; as though he expected 
some strange revelation from this singular guest. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 473 

She came here to meet a lady by appointment,” con- 
tinued Arthur. 

“ She did, sir,” responded the witness. 

“ Do you know who that lady was ?” 

“ I do not, sir.” 

Do you suspect her to have been any one in particular ?” 

“ I do not, sir.” 

“ Did you hold any conversation with either of the ladies ?” 

“ Only with the elder one, sir; and very little with her.” 

“ What was the purport of that conversation ?” 

“ Only this, sir ; when I went to the carriage door — she 
came in a handsome, close carriage — a dark green one, 
drawn by two fine, spirited, gray horses — and seeing such 
a distinguished-looking arrival, I went out myself to receive 
it — and, as I said, when I went to the carriage door, she 
put her head out and asked me : 

“‘Is there a young lady here who came by the Alexan- 
dria coach, waiting for another lady to meet her 

“ I said ; ‘ There is, madam.' 

“ ‘ I am that lady. Go and tell her that I am here, but 
in too great a hurry to alight. And ask her to be good 
enough to excuse me, and to come out to the carriage.' 

“Well, sir, I sent -that message in by a waiter; and 
presently the young lady came out, and I handed her into 
the carriage myself And it immediately started ofiT at full 
speed, as if it were running away.” 

“And that is all you know ?” inquired Arthur Powis. 

“All I know of my own knowledge, sir,” answered the 
landlord. 

“ What description of young lady was she who came by 
the Alexandria coach ?” 

“ Well, she was of middle height and slender, with a fair, 
thin face, and fine, soft features, and very black hair, eyes, 
and eyebrows. And her voice was very low, and her man- 
ners were very gentle.” 

“Gladys! Gladys!” said Arthur to himself Then 
speaking up, he inquired : 


474 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ What sort of person was the elder lady?” 

. “ Well, she was very tall and rather thin ; and she was 
dressed in black, and so thickly vailed that I could not see 
her face distinctly. But I judge from what I did see that 
she was dark.” 

Mrs. Jay!” exclaimed Arthur, to himself. Then he 
said aloud : “ The elder lady who came to meet the young 
lady signed herself Elizabeth Eairbridge — and called her- 
self a widow. Do you know any one of that name in this 
neighborhood ?” 

“ ‘ Eairbridge V Lots of them I” answered the landlord, 
who, as he grew more familiar with his questioner, grad- 
ually changed his witness-box style of delivery for his 
ordinary tone of conversation ; “ Lots of them, sir ; though 
not one that looks like this lady, if you mean that. For 
this lady was tall and thin, and as far as I could judge, 
dark-complexioned — whereas, every one of the Eairbridges 
are short and stout and red-haired and fair; which all 
comes of their marrying in and in so much, to keep the 
j)roperty in the same family. 

‘‘Do you know any widow Elizabeth Eairbridge, who 
signs herself ‘ of Eairbridge.’ ” 

“ No, sir ; but I know there is no such widow in the 
whole clan ; and neither is there any one who has the right 
to sign themselves *0/ Fairhridge^ — (which is the old 
family seat, where the heads of the family live) — except 
Colonel John Eairbridge and Mrs. Colonel John. If that 
lady called herself a Eairbridge of Eairbridge, she was an 
impostor, sir ; you may rely upon it.” 

“ I have every reason to believe that she was,” said Ar- 
thur Powis, very gravely. 

“ The whole affair had a very queer look, sir, and set 
folks here to talking about it, I tell you.” 

“ What road did the carriage take?” 

“ Straight on, sir, toward Centreville.” 

“ The very road that she would have taken in going by a 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 475 


private conveyance to Kader Idris,” murmured Arthur to 
himself ; then speaking out, he said : 

“ Landlord, you say that this affair set people to talking. 
Pray, have you heard any thing of that party since the 
carriage left ?” 

“ Well, sir, yes. I told you, if you remember, that I 
had given you all the information I possessed of my own 
knowledge. But I heard something from some others that 
makes me think that all was not right.” 

“ What I What ?” questioned Arthur, eagerly. 

** First, sir, tell me — are you in the detective line of 
business ?” 

Arthur smiled as he murmured to himself : 

What next ? I have been mistaken for a hod-bearer, 
a ghost, and now a detective ! What next, I wonder I” 
Then aloud he replied : ‘‘ No, my friend, I am not in the 

detective line ; but I have the deepest personal interest in 
the young lady, who has been carried off ” 

“ ‘ Carried off!’ There, I said she had been carried off! 
I told Tom Hodge so, when he told me what he heard,” 
exclaimed the landlord. 

What, what, did he hear ?” eagerly demanded Arthur. 

“ Well, Tom Hodge was driving his team along the old 
meadow road that crosses the turnpike, when, just before 
he got to the crossing, he sees a carriage come tearing 
along, as if the horses had run away, and a young lady 
with her head out of the window screaming as if she was in 
fits. And he sees a gentleman coming along the opposite 
way on horseback, jump off his horse and seize the heads 
of the carriage horses to stop them ; and at the same min- 
ute he sees the nigger driver strike the gentleman away 
from before the horses, and lash the horses into a faster 
gallop, and somebody pull the young lady back in the car- 
riage, and shut down the window. And then he sees the 
carriage itself whirl away in a cloud of dust, and the gentle- 
man that had tried to stop the horses get into his saddle 


476 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

and ride on, cussing every step lie went ; all this* Tom 
Hodge sees as he rides up to the cross-roads. When he 
goes there the carriage was out of sight in one direction and 
the horseman in the other.’’ 

“ I heard something like this from a traveller I met at 
Fairfax Court-House this afternoon.” 

'“At Fairfax Court-House this afternoon,’ sir I Surely 
you have not ridden through all this storm from that 
point ?” said the landlord, in astonishment. 

“Yes; but never mind me and my stormy ride! Tell 
me of that carriage and its occupants. Did you hear any 
thing more of them?” 

“Yes, sir! A gentleman from Unionville — which is on 
tlie same road — who passed this way this noon, hearing us 
talk of the strange party, said it must be the same party 
he had noticed at the wayside inn, where he had got his 
horse fed. And he described it — a dark green carriage ; 
gray horses ; a very silent negro coachman ; a tall, thin, 
dark lady, dressed in black, and a young lady. But what 
particularly attracted his attention was the fact, that the 
w'hole party looked as if they had been on the road all 
night ; and that the young lady was lifted out of the car- 
riage, perfectl}^ insensible, being in a swoon, or a trance, 
or something of that sort. They went immediately to a 
private room ; but only staid long enough to get some 
breakfast and change the horses, after which they set out 
again ; the young lady being lifted back into the carriage, 
still in the same dead swoon or trance I And they took 
the Warrenton road.” 

“ Oh, Gladys ! Gladys ! Ah, my dear love ! My lamb 
in the she-wolf’s jaws ! How you must have suffered ! But 
— oh ! how that she-devil shall pay for it all I” exclaimed 
Arthur Powis, breathing short and hard, as he jumped up 
and paced the room. Presently coming back, he said : 

“What else?” 

“Nothing, sir; that was all the traveller could tell us; 
and I have heard nothing more since ” 


THE BRIDE DF LLEWELLYN. 


477 


Arthur walked up and down the room in troubled 
silence a few moments longer. Presently he paused, and 
inquired : 

“ How far is Fairbridge from this place ?” 

“ About five miles, sir. But still harping on the Fair- 
bridges, sir? Bless you, sir, the}^ are innocent of this 
job 

“ I suppose so ! nay, I know so ! But I will not leave 
the neighborhood without making some inquiries at Fair- 
bridge. The woman’s use of the name was in itself a very 
singular circumstance. And by inquiring there, I may 
obtain some useful information I Is the road from this 
place to Fairbridge a good one?” 

“ Well, sir, if you was to ask me to name you, as a 
curiosity, the very worst road that ever I knew in all my 
traveling, I should tell you it was the labyrinth of cross- 
country roads, leading in and out, through hills and holes, 
thickets and swamps, between this and Fairbridge.” 

“ Nevertheless, if it is at all practicable, I would like to 
reach there to-night.” 

“ To-night ! Lord, sir — to-night ! Why, sir, if you 
wasn’t a reasonable looking young gentleman, I should 
think you had lost your reason altogether ! To-night ! 
through this storm ! with this much snow lying on the 
^ground, and more falling thick to blind you ! Wh}^ sir, it 
was difficult enough to ride from Fairfax Court House to 
this place, as you must have found it.” 

‘‘ It certainly was almost impossible.” 

“Well, sir; still it was not impossible, seeing that 3^011 
did get through. But I tell 3^011, sir, that road from Fair- 
fax Court House to this place is one of the best roads in 
the country ; whereas the road from this to Fairbridge is 
one of the worst. And so it is many degrees be3'ond im- 
possible for you to get there to-night. No, sir; 3'ou will 
have to wait till broad daylight ; and even then it will be 
very dangerous to tr3^ it, until the snow has melted away ; 


478 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


for now, with every thing two feet under the snow, you 
may ride into one of them holes I spoke of, unawares, and 
get your neck broke ! nothing more likely, even by to- 
morrow’s light ; but in to-nighVs darkness nothing would 
be more certain.” 

“ I fear 3^11 are right,” said Arthur Powis, drawing out 
his watch and looking at the time ; ‘‘I fear you are right. 
Besides, it is now eleven o’clock. It would take me an 
hour, at the least, to reach Fairbridge, eA^en supposing I 
should get there in safetA^ and that would bring midnight — 
too late an hour at which to disturb a strange family upon 
my own especial business. But, landlord, I wish to be 
called as early as six o’clock in the morning.” 

“ Yery well, sir; you shall be ca'lled.” 

“And now, in order to be quite fresh for my early jour- 
ney, I think I will retire at once.” 

“Very well, sir ; but did you not order supper?” 

“Ah, 3"es — I had forgotten. Let it be sent in immedi- 
atel}^ if 3mu please.” 

The landlord went out ; and his exit was shortly followed 
b}^ the entrance of the waiter with a broiled beefsteak, fried 
potatoes, and the accompaniments. 

Because he kneAv that he must take care of his strength 
in order to deliver Gladys, Arthur Powis forced himself 
to eat. And as soon as he had finished a moderate meal, 
he retired to the room that was made ready for him, and 
tried his best to sleep. 

Nature did more for him than all his own efforts. Na- 
ture threw him into the deep sleep of fatigue. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 479 


CHAPTER XLYI. 

THE RIDE ENDED. 

Tis done ! Dread Winter spreads his deepest gloom 
And reigns triumphant o’er the invested year. — Thomson* 

Arthur Powis slept well until six o’clock, when he was 
awakened hy the voice of the waiter who had been directed 
to call him at that hour, 

Arthur Powis sprang out of bed, and, first of all, went 
to the window, threw open the shutters, and looked out. 

It was snowing still I Scarcely the dawn of day, and 
snowing still ! the ground all heavy-shaded white — the sky 
all darkness — and the intermediate space filled up with the 
fine, white, cold, moist powder of sifting snow. 

However, discouraging as was the aspect of the weather, 
Arthur resolved to proceed on his journey. 

He dressed quickly, and went down stairs to the parlor, 
where a good breakfast was already awaiting him. 

“ Have my horse fed and brought around immediately,” 
was the order he gave as he sat down to breakfast. 

By the time he had finished his meal, his order had been 
obeyed, in so far as his horse had also been supplied with 
the materials of a good breakfast. But as the horse was 
neither in love nor in a hurry, he naturally took more time 
over his meal than his master had done. 

And so it was seven o’clock when Arthur Powis at length 
found himself in his saddle, and about to commence his 
journey, in defiance of the gravest cautions from the land- 
lord and all his satellites. 

Of that journey I cannot write in detail. Who can de- 
scribe the indescribable ? 

As for the sky, the sun was up, certainly ; but it might 
as well have been below the horizon for any efficient light 
it gave 


480 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


And as for the earth, there was solid ground, of course, 
somewhere, but it was diflicult to be found under the soft, 
deep, engulphing snow. 

And then, as for the journey, it was through a thick, fast 
sifting shower of cold, moist, white powder, and over steep 
hills, and into deep holes, and, in short, was such a des- 
perate one as has never been undertaken by mortal man 
since the days of Tam O’Shanter. It took Arthur Powis 
nearly three hours to get through with it, so that it was 
close upon ten o’clock when he reached Fairbridge, a fine, 
old-time manor, situated in the bottom of a wooded valley, 
that was now nothing but an abyss of snow and of bare 
forest-trees, in the midst of which stood the red sand- 
stone mansion. 

A gray-haired footman answered his knock at the door, 
and took in his card, upon which, in addition to his name, 
he had written the words, “ On business of vital im^wrtance.^' 

The gray-haired footman returned in a very short time, 
and invited the visitor to enter the well-furnished library, 
where he was soon joined by a short, stout red-haired old 
gentlemen, who walking briskly into the room, inquired, 
pleasantly : 

“ Well, sir ! you wished to see me on business ; what is 
it ? But, be seated sir ; pray be seated,” he added, waving 
his hand, as he dropped into one arm-chair and nodded to 
his companion to take another. 

Arthur Powis sat down and explained his business — so 
far as to say that he came to inquire whether Colonel Fair- 
bridge could give him any information concerning a person 
calling herself the Widow Elizabeth Fairbridge, who had 
within the last day or two engaged as a private governess 
for her children a young lady friend of the inquirer. 

“‘The Widow Elizabeth Fairbridge?’ I do not know 
such a person ; but I do know there is no individual of that 
name connected with our family or belonging to our neigh- 
borhood,” said the colonel. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


481 


“ Yet she writes herself ‘of Fairhridge,' ” said Arthur. 

“ Oh ! she does !” exclaimed the colonel, with a touch of 
jealous pride ; “ then clearly she is an impostor, since there 
is no one who has the right to call themselves ‘ of Fair- 
bridge’ except myself and wife and our children.” 

“ Your answer is just what I expected, sir. I felt certain 
that the name had been falsely assumed by the person in 
question ; but still I wished to hear my conviction confirmed 
by your lips. And, now, sir, another question, if you 
please,” said Arthur, with a courteous and half apologetic 
smile. 

“As many as you please, Mr. Powis,” replied the old 
gentleman, waving his hand politely. 

“ Did you ever chance to know a woman by the name of 
Jane Jay Llewellyn ?” 

A curious smile came over the face of the colonel as he 
heard this question, and answered: 

“ I knew such a woman once. Excuse me, why do you 
ask ?” 

“ Because I feel morally certain that she is the person 
who, for nefarious purposes of her own, has falsely assumed 
your name.” 

“A/i, ha I has she so ? Well it will not be the first time 
that she has aspired to bear the name ! But for what 
possible purpose cah she have assumed it now ?” 

“ To decoy into her power the person of a young heiress, 
whom she is anxious to force or to beguile into a marriage 
with her son.” 

“ It would be jiist like her to make such an attempt ; but 
how can she hope to succeed ?” 

“ By the most unscrupulous means, of course. But the 
story of her evil deeds is too long a one to tell you, sir, 
and besides I have not the time. I am engaged now in 
hunting this woman down,” said Arthur, rising to depart. 

“Do not go, I beg you, sir. The weather is quite dread- 
ful and the roads very dangerous,” urged the colonel. 

30 


482 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ I thank 3^ou, Colonel Fairbridge, but business will 
admit of no delay, replied Arthur, buttoning up his over- 
coat. 

With manj" expressions of regret that he should expose 
himself to such terrible weather, the old gentleman accom- 
panied his visitor to the door. 

’ And Arthur Powis mounted his horse and rode forth 
again into the storm. 

He resolved to go to Kader Idris, for he felt persuaded 
that thither his stolen wife had been conveyed. But to go 
to Kader Idris, on horseback, across the country, along 
such roads and through such a storm as he was now strug- 
gling against, was simply impossible. Even his adven- 
turous spirit acknowledged that. So he resolved to go 
back to Washington as fast as he could, and to take the 
Norfolk steamer and make the greater part of the journey 
by water. He urged his patient horse to as fast a gait as 
the circumstances of the bad weather and worse roads 
permitted ; but often, in the covered hollows, for instance, 
that gait was a series of plunging, slipping and wallowing, 
that made it verj^ difficult for the rider to keep his seat, 
and nearly impossible for the horse to get along. Often 
he must have missed his road, but for the fact that, up hill 
or down hill, it lay all the way through a thick forest, 
where the trees on each side fenced him in. 

It was nearly two o’clock when at length he reached 
Dranesville. 

And there he found it absolutely necessary that his ex- 
hausted horse should rest. But no rest would the j^oung 
man allow himself. Finding, upon inquiry, that he could 
procure a fresh horse at the hotel, he determined to con- 
tinue his journey. While the fresh horse was being pre- 
pared for his use, he took a hasty dinner. And then he 
mounted and rode forth again, leaving Brother Peter’s 
white cob to be forwarded to him at Washington the next 
day. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 483 

As he rode out of the inn-yard he noticed that the snow 
had ceased to fall, and that the clouds were breaking away 
before a brisk north-west wind. The weather was growing 
colder and the ground beginning to freeze. Yery soon it 
would be possible to ride over the frozen surface of the 
snow, and he would be able to get on faster, especiallj^ as 
his horse’s hoofs had been rough-shod for the purpose. 
With the fresh horse and the improved roads, he made 
such good progress as to reach Fairfax Court House in 
three hours. He only stopped long enough to give his 
horse a drink, and then he rode on toward Washington. 

It was nine o’clock when he drew reiri at the door of 
Ceres Cottage. 

The old ladies were all up and keeping the supper wait- 
ing for him. 

All three arose to meet him as he walked into the sitting- 
room. 

Oh, Colonel Pollard, sir ! what a time you must have 
had in the snow-storm 1 And where is Mrs. Colonel Pol- 
lard, sir? We thought you would bring her back with 
you; but of course she couldn’t venture out in such 
weather,” said Miss Polly, ofllciously taking his hat and 
gloves, while Miss Jenny awkwardly helped him off with 
his overcoat and Miss Milly drew the large stuffed arm- 
chair to the warmest corner of the fireplace for his comfort. 

Thank you, my kind friends ; but how is it that you are 
ready with this warm welcome for me ? Did you confi- 
dently expect me ?” inquired Arthur. 

Why, of course we did I We knowed you couldn’t get 
back yesterday through the snow any way, even if the dis- 
tance had been shorter. But to-night we thought you’d be 
sure to come, and to fetch Mrs. Colonel Pollard, too. So 
we made up our minds to keep the fire up and the supper 
waiting until ten o’clock at least,” said Miss Polly. 

Arthur sank exhausted into the arm-chair; while the 
sisters, without troubling Harriet, who was performing the 


484 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


office of groom for Arthur’s horse, busied themselves with 
putting th^ supper on the table. 

“And how did you find her, the darling ?” inquired Miss 
Milly. 

“ I have not found her at all,” replied Arthur. 

“Not found her at all !” echoed Miss Milly, pausing with 
the colfee-pot in her hand. 

“Not found her at all,” repeated Arthur. 

“ Oh ! then you didn’t go as far as Dranesville ? The 
storm stopped you somewheres this side, I suppose ?” in- 
quired Miss Milly, while her sisters anxiously awaited the 
answer. 

“ Yes, I went through the storm straight on to Dranes- 
ville, and even to Fairbridge ; but — I should have had to 
go further on the road to Kader Idris to find her,” replied 
Arthur. 

“ What I you don’t say !” exclaimed all the sisters in a 
breath. 

“ Yes, my friends ; she has been again entrapped into 
the power of that infamous woman. Yes, my friends ; the 
person signing herself Mrs. Elizabeth Eairbridge, of Fair- 
bridge, was no other than that felon— Mrs. Jay Llewellyn.” 

The three sisters lifted their hands in horror. 

“No ! you don’t mean it !” they at length exclaimed. 

“ Yes, but I do !” replied Arthur. 

“And what are you going to do about it ?” inquired Miss 
Polly. 

“ I am going on to Kader Idris early to-morrow morn- 
ing!” replied Arthur. 

“ Well, here ! take a cup of coffee, and then tell us all 
how, and about it,” said Miss Polly, seating herself at the 
table and beginning to pour out the coffee. 

And over the good supper Arthur' told the friendly old 
ladies all the incidents of his journey, and all that he had 
heard concerning the abduction of his wife. 

The poor old ladies heard the story with great wonder 
and distress and self-reproach. 


.THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 485 

We ought not to a-let her gone ! We ought not to a- 
let her gone !” they one and all repeated over and over 
again. 

“ Knowing what I do of the circumstances of the case 
and of the character of my wife, I feel sure that you could 
not have prevented her, and therefore you have nothing 
whatever to blame yourselves for,” said Arthur, soothingly. 

But it was a long time before he could restore them to 
any thing like peace of conscience. 

Then he told them that a messenger from Dranesville 
would bring down Brother Peter’s cob the next day and 
take away the horse that he himself had ridden, and that 
was now in the stable. 

And then he bade them an affectionate good-night, and 
retired to rest. 

Early the next morning Arthur Powis bade adieu to his 
kind hostesses, and, followed by their prayers and benedic- 
tions, set out to walk to the steamboat wharf, where he 
arrived just in time to secure his passage on the Pocahon- 
tas, that was advertised to sail that morning from Wash- 
ington to Norfolk, touching at all the intermediate points. 

It was late in the afternoon when the boat reached 
Shrimpton, the little sea-side hamlet that was most conve- 
nient for the landing of any traveller bound for Kader Idris. 

Here Arthur got off the boat, and, after some little diffi- 
culty, succeeded in hiring a horse to go to Standwell that 
night. 

Arthur rode the whole night through and a part of the 
next morning. 

It was eleven o’clock when he reached Standwell. 

He put his horse up at the “ Peaks,” took a single cup 
of coffee, and then set out to look up a magistrate. 

He found Squire Browning, an old friend of the Llewel- 
lyns and the Powises, in his office and at leisure. 

Arthur solicited and obtained a private interview, and 
then he told the story of Mrs. Llewellyn’s crimes and 
Gladys’ wrongs. 


486 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


After some demur, Squire Browning issued a warrant for 
the arrest of Jane Jay Llewellyn upon the charge of .ab- 
duction and poisoning ; a second warrant for the arrest of 
James Stukely, for aiding and abetting the said Jane Jay 
Llewellyn ; and a third warrant for the arrest of the negro 
Judas, upon the charge of highway robbery and attempted 
murder. 

And armed with these warrants, and accompanied by 
three mounted constables, Arthur Powis set out again for 
Kader Idris. 

All these arrangements had occupied so much of the day 
that it was quite late in the afternoon when the party rode 
out of Standwell ; and it was quite dark when they reached 
Kader Idris. 

As they drew near the house, Arthur noticed with sur- 
prise that the whole front of the mansion was lighted up 
as for some scene of festivity. 

♦ 

CHAPTER XLYII. 

' UTTER DESPAIR, 

From short, unnatural and disturbed repose 
She woke ; how happy had she woke no more 
Yet that were vain, in dreams invade the grave, 

She woke, emerging from a sea of dreams 
Tuniulttiousl where her wrecked, desponding thought 
From wave to wave of bitterest misery 
At random drove, her helm of reason lost. 

Though now restored, ’tis only change of pain, 

A bitter change, severer, for severe. 

The day too short for her distress; the night, 

Even in the zenith of her dark domain, 

Is sunshine to the color of her fate ! — Young^s Night Thoughts. 

When Gladys awoke from the swoon produced by the 
chloroform, the first object that met her opening eyes was 
the same that ten minutes before they had closed upon in 
apparent death — the baleful, green, glaring eyes of her 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 487 

mortal enemy I And the first feeling of which she became 
conscious, if indeed it could be called a feeling, w^as that 
of utter despair. 

"Despair, not only of her own power, but of God’s provi- 
dence. Despair that saw no light in earth or heaven. 
Despair such as the hunted negro feels when run to the 
earth at last by bloodhounds, he is dragged back to chains, 
to stripes and to slavery. Despair such as the fugitive 
criminal feels when, after a taste of liberty, he is overtaken 
by the avenger of blood and returned to the condemned 
cell, to await the gallows. But despair such as no child of 
God should indulge for a single instant, even in the dark- 
est trials of life. Gladys, however, was very young, very 
far from perfect, and had been very bitterly wronged. And, 
besides, I doubt if the best of us, placed in her circum- 
stances, would have proved better Christians than she did. 

Mrs. Llewellyn’s cat-like eyes, brimful of malignity and 
triumph, were fixed upon her. Those of Gladys met them 
unflinchingly, not in defiance, but, as I said, in despair. 

“ Well, my pretty ward I I have caught you at last I A 
fine time I have, taking care of you during your minority I 
But I have got you safe once more ! And you shall not 
escape me again !” said Mrs Llewellyn, hissing forth the 
words between her set teeth. 

“I do not care! I do not care!” screamed Gladys. 
“You will die sooner or later! Perhaps I shall kill you ! 
I wont if I keep my senses ; but you may drive me mad ; 
and then, spite of all 5^ou can do, I shall kill you ! For 
the mad are very cunning, you know, and they find out 
means of deceiving and destroying that would never occur 
to the sane !” 

“You will not go mad; your Llewellyn brain is too 
strong. It may become eccentric from its very strength, 
but never insane,” coolly replied the woman. 

“ Yery well ! I don’t care ! If I do not go mad and 
kill you, at least you must, of course, d’-^ some time or 


488 


THE BKIHE OF LLEWELLYN. 


other ; or, at all events, it is ’certain that the world will 
some day come to an end ; and then, Mrs. Jay, then 3 'ou 
will go to burning flames ! And I shall glory in your tor- 
ment and your despair! yes, L shall, Oh! I never believed 
in hell before ; but I do now. I never believed that the good 
Father in Heaven ever created or permitted a place of eter- 
nal torture for. any of his creatures ; but now 1 do. Xow I 
see how necessary it is for just such devils as you are, Mrs. 
Jay! Now I .believe in it ! now I desire it ! now I pra^^ for 
it! Oh! I should not be perfectly happy in highest 
heaven unless I knew that you were in deepest hell, 
without one hope of ever, in all eternity, getting out!” 

These and more wild and wicked words poor Gladys 
uttered in the phrensy of her despair. Who was account- 
able for their exceeding sinfulness ? Not Gladys, perhaps, 
but the wretched woman through whom the “ offence” 
came. 

While Gladys was still raving, and the carriage still 
going at full speed, she caught a glimpse of a horseman 
riding toward them from the opposite direction. In an 
instant the hope of escape once more presented itself to 
her, and she dashed open the window and screamed : 

“Help! help I for Heaven’s dear sake, help!” 

But just as she saw the horseman throw himself from his 
horse and seize the head of the leader — just as she hoped 
for rescue — she herself was caught back by her captor, 
held fast, and suffocated by a handkerchief saturated with 
chloroform. 

When once more she recovered from the effects of this 
powerful agent, she found herself whirled rapidly along 
the forest road, that was now momentarily, growing darker 
under the advancing shadows of night. 

She spoke no more, but in the anguish of her spul she 
reproached heaven and earth. 

It was Mrs. Llewellyn who had the “floor,” and did all 
the speaking. And bitterly she taunted her victim with 
her utter helplessness and hopelessness. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 489 

But througli all that dark night journey Gladys spoke no 
more. 

As day dawned, they passed out of the forest into the 
more open country, and by the first beams of the rising 
sun they saw before them the village of Unionville. 

As they entered the village, Mrs. Llewellyn again chloro- 
formed her patient. So that when they drove up to the 
village tavern, Gladys, in a state of complete insensibility, 
was lifted from the carriage, and conveyed to a private 
room, and laid upon a sofa. 

Here Mrs. Llewellyn ordered her own breakfast to be 
brought, and while it was being prepared she sat beside her 
victim, and upon the slightest sign of return of sensibility, 
she administered her horrible drug. 

When the servant brought in the breakfast and respect- 
fully asked if he could do any thing for the sick young 
lady, she answered him in the negative, and dismissed him 
from the room. 

She took her breakfast alone, and when it was finished, 
the horses, refreshed by a good feed, were put to the car- 
riage, and Gladys, still in deep, death-like swoon, was 
carried back to her wheeled prison. 

When Gladys awoke again, they were whirling along a 
road that wound through certain old fields, and the snow 
was falling thickly around them. But she did not notice 
it. Sunshine or tempest was nothing to her. 

She was faint from fatigue, and hunger, and despair. 
But she did not care. Life or death mattered little to her. 

All day long they drove through the snow-storm. Late 
in the afternoon they reached the little mountain village of 
IJpperville. As they drove into the principal street, Mrs. 
Llewellyn again seized and chloroformed her victim, now . 
quite incapable of resistance. They drove up to the best 
hotel, where Gladj'^s was again lifted from the carriage and 
conveyed to a private room, where she lay insensible . upon 
the sofa, while Mrs. Llewellyn got her own supper, and 
fresh horses were put to the carriage. 


490 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


It was no part of this woman’s design that her victim 
should perish of hunger ; so she filled a bottle with cofiee 
and rolled up a parcel of sandwiches, and took them with 
her into the carriage. 

Upon this occasion the swoon of Gladys continued so 
long as to excite serious apprehensions in the mind of the 
woman who had so vilely practised upon her health and 
reason. But at length, when, in the midst of that terrible 
fall of snow, they were slowly winding through a defile of 
the Blue Ridge, Gladys once more opened her eyes — how 
large and hungr}^ and despairing they looked I 

“ You are famished,” said her tormentor. 

Yes,” sighed Gladys. 

“Eat, then,” said the other, placing the coffee and the 
sandwiches before her. 

“ No ; I will die,” answered Gladys, wearily. 

“ As you please ; but you will not die until you have 
served my purpose I” hissed the woman. 

Then both relapsed into silence. And the carriage drove 
on through night and storm for an hour or two longer. 

Suddenly it stopped. 

“ What is the matter ?” called Mrs. Llewellyn from the 
window. Then suddenly recollecting that her coachman 
could not hear, she rapped upon the front pannel of the 
carriage until she produced a vibration that could be felt. 

In another moment the deaf and dumb negro was at the 
window. 

“What is the matter?” she spelt rapidly upon her 
fingers by the light of the carriage lamp. 

“ If you please, ma’am, the road has become almost im- 
passable. But we are at Snicker’s Gap. Had we not 
better put up at the tavern here for the night ?” he spelt. 

“ Yes,” she answered briefly on her fingers. 

Again j^oor Gladys was chloroformed and taken into a 
private room of the rustic hotel, and this time she was un- 
dressed and put to bed. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 491 

Mrs. Llewellyn had a comfortable supper; so had the 
coachman ; and so also the horses ; but not Gladys ; she, 
poor girl, remained in her artificially produced swoon for 
the greater portion of the night. 

Mrs. Llewellyn sat beside her bed and watched her. She 
feared that she had gone too far, in practicing upon this 
poor girPs nerves and brains ; but she feared still more 
with a horrible and guilty dread to call necessary assist- 
ance, lest it should lead to a discovery of her evil deeds. 
So she watched the pallid face of her victim with the 
utmost anxiety. 

And when, at length, Gladys drew a faint fluttering 
breath and opened her ejms, Mrs. Llewellyn hastened to 
fill a feeding cup with wine, and put the spout of it be- 
tween the victim’s lips and compel her to swallow a little, 
before she should be sufficiently recovered to know what 
she was doing. Drugged wine it was, for as soon as Gla- 
dys had swallowed it she turned over and fell into a deep 
sleep, that was more natural than the swoon had been. 

In the morning, as soon as it was light enough to see 
the road, Gladys was muffled up and convejmd to the car- 
riage that was in readiness before the door. And Mrs. 
Llewellyn resumed her journey. 

The second day’s travel was so much like the first, that 
it need not be described. They stopped only twice, when 
it was absolutely necessary to change horses and to take 
refreshments. Gladys was always chloroformed before 
being taken from the carriage. And to sympathizing in- 
quiries concerning the health of “the poor young lad}^” 
Mrs. Llewellyn answered that her young charge had only 
fainted from fatigue. 

Always Mrs. Llewellyn, her coachman and her horses 
got comfortable meals. And life was sustained in Gladys 
only by the administracion of a few drops of wine at the 
point of time when she would be recbvering from the effects 
of chloroform, and just capable of swallowing without being 
conscious of the act. 


492 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


The}’’ rode through all the next night ; passed through 
Standwell at the break of dajr, and reached Kader Idris 
about ten o’clock on Tuesday morning. 

Gladys, no longer unconscious, but too weak to resist or 
to talk, and almost to breathe, was lifted out of the carriage, 
and conveyed to her own apartment and laid upon her bed, 
just as she had been more than a year before. Only upon 
this occasion her deliverer and avenger was close in pursuit. 

The darkest hour, you know, is always just before the 
dawn of day. 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 

A PROPER TOOL FOR VILLAINY. 


I am one, my liege, 

Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
Have so incensed, that I am reckless what 
I do to spite the world. 

And I another, 

So weary with disasters, tugged with fortune, 

That I would set my life on any chance 
To mend it, or be rid on’t. — S/iakspeai-e. 

1 WISH the good had half the energy possessed by the 
wicked. If they had, I am sure that the victory of the 
right over the wrong would more frequently be won. 

As soon as Mrs. Llewellyn had seen Gladys safely locked 
in her room, she went to her own chambers, changed her 
travelling habit for a home dress, and then, without allow- 
ing herself one hour’s repose after her harassing journey, 
she passed at once down stairs to push forward the crim- 
inal purpose she had in view. 

First she went into the small parlor that was the com- 
mon family sitting-room. 

On opening the door, she involuntarily started and 
shrunk back in surprise and alarm at a piece of her own 
v/ork that sat staring her in the iiico I 


THE BRIDE GF LLEWELLYN. 493 

It was Mr. James Stukely — who was seated bolt-upright 
upon the sofa, with his hands hanging down by his sides, 
his mouth open, his chin fallen, his eyes gazing into va- 
cancy, his face pale as death, and his expression idiotic. 

It was perfectly clear that he had been put through a 
course of Mrs. Llewellyn’s sedatives, and that the treat- 
ment had gone unusually hard with him. 

Mrs. Llewellyn looked at him for a minute, during which 
he never noticed her presence or moved a muscle of his 
face or form. 

“How do 3^011 do, James?” said his mother, at length, 
approaching him very cautiously. 

“ Extra ” began Mr. Stukely ; but he did not finish 

the word or change his position. 

“ James,” said his mother, very emphatically, in order to 
arrest his attention, “James, I have had a very dangerous 
journey ; but I have got home safe at last, and I have 
brought Gladys with me.” 

“Ah, in ” began Mr. Stukely ; but he thought better 

of it, and stopped in the middle of the phrase. 

“Oh, this fellow Nugent has gone beyond my' orders! 
He has really poisoned the boy! He should have known 
that his poor brain could not bear much!” said Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn, indignantly, as she swept out of the parlor and 
passed into the library, where, after sharply ringing the 
bell, she threw herself into an easy-chair. 

A servant soon answered the summons. 

“ Is Mr. Nugent in his room ?” 

“ Yes, madam, he got in from Stand well a few minutes 
ago.” 

“ Let him know that I have returned home and would 
like to see him here.” 

The servant bowed and went to obey the order. 

Before introducing this gentleman into the library, I 
must tell who and what he was ; and where and wherefore 
Mrs. Llewellyn had made his acquaintance, and invited 
him to her house. 


494 THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

About the time that Gladys fled from New York there was a 
tremendous parochial and newspaper excitement over the 
case of a certain unworthy preacher, who for gross impro- 
priety of conduct had been discharged by his congregation, 
and was awaiting the meeting of the proper authorities to 
investigate his case, and with every probability of being 
finally ungowned and dismissed from the pulpit. The 
public were divided in opinion as to his guilt or innocence ; 
but not equally ; by far the greater portion believed him 
guilty. Most of my readers will remember the case to 
which I allude. I dislike very much to write of this man ; 
because he was a sorrow and a reproach to the holy profes- 
sion for which we all must ever feel the deepest veneration. 
But I cannot help it. There was, you know, a Judas 
among the chosen twelve apostles of our Saviour. There 
was an Arnold among the heroic soldiers of the Revolu- 
tion. And there has been within late years a Philip Townly 
Nugent among the devoted preachers of a pure gospel. 
Mrs. Llewellyn had read all the paragraphs pro and con. 
And she believed the accused preacher to be guilty of the 
charges preferred against him. Perhaps being of a kindred 
spirit, she understood him better than others did. She 
saw in him the very tool she needed to work out her de- 
signs against Gladys. 

She wrote to him a letter, in which she declared her full 
belief that he was an innocent and injured man ; and she 
invited and pressed him to call and see her that she might 
express to him personally her sympathy and respect. 

Refreshingly as rain upon the parched heath fell the 
words of this letter upon the desolate heart of the preacher, 
who, whether guilty or not guilty, most deeply felt the 
blasting ban breathed over him by society at large. 

He lost no time in calling on Mrs. Llewellyn, who re- 
ceived him with all the tenderness of a loving mother, and 
all the veneration of a believing disciple. She reiterated 
in his presence her earnest belief in his innocence, and pro- 
mised all her social influence in his favor. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 495 


But be it noted that the social influence of Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn in New York amounted to nothing, since she had 
sedulously avoided society, and had made no acquaintances 
whatever in the city. And she invited him to dine with her 
the next day. Delighted with his reception, he readily ac- 
cepted the invitation, and the next day duly presented him- 
self at the dinner hour. Nor was that the last time he dined 
with his lady patroness. Mrs. Llewellyn, not doubting but 
that she should be able to recapture Gladys in due time, 
delayed her departure from New York in order to culti- 
vate Mr. Nugent. He dined with her a second and a third 
time. 

And then, still treating him with an aifectation of sympa- 
thy and respect, she informed him of her intention soon to 
leave New York. 

He expressed the deepest regret at her intended depar- 
ture. 

She then remarked that New York could not, at the pre- 
sent time, be a very agreeable residence for himself. 

He assured her that it was not ; and that it would be 
much less so, when she, his respected friend and beloved 
sister, should have departed. And he spoke with an air as 
though he suspected the middle-aged widow had fallen in 
love with him and was trying to draw him on to make a 
proposal, even if she did not intend to go further and make 
one herself. But Mr. Nugent resolved to proceed cau- 
tiously. He was a needy preacher out of employment and 
in disgrace ; but for all that he would not sacrifice himself 
to a middle-aged widow unless he should be well assured 
that she was rich. Yanity was not among the least of Mr. 
Nugent’s natural endowments. But no such thoughts were 
in the mind of the proud lady, far too proud, even jf she 
had been younger, to have taken any man’s yoke upon her 
and especially this man’s, upon whom she looked down 
with a private scorn and contempt, which could he have 
felt and known, must have humbled his self-conceit to the 
dust. 


496 THE BEIDE 04^ LLEWELLYN. 

She smothered her feelings of disgust, and &peaking to 
him, as an honorable woman to an honorable man, she in- 
vited him to accompany her to Virginia as her escort on 
her journey and as her guest for the winter. 

With a secret smile of gratified vanit}^ and with many 
outward expressions of thankfulness, he accepted this invi- 
tation. 

And the next day the whole party set out for Virginia. 
And in three days, they arrived at Kader Idris. 

In a day or two after their arrival, the guest began to 
employ himself by trying to find out the financial circuiur 
stances of his hostess, and especially whether she was 
really the owner of the vast estate of Kader Idris. If so, 
he resolved to lose not an hour in proposing to the widow 
and securing a life interest in the property, when of course 
he could snap his fingers at the ‘"convention.” Some little 
remnant of delicacy prevented him from making inquiries 
of hei’ son. But on his first visit to the post-office at Stand- 
well, he did not scruple to ask the postmaster. And then 
and there he received the information that Mrs. Llewellyn 
resided at Kader Idris, only as the guardian of the heiress ; 
and that in her own right she did not possess a dollar.. 

Kugent ground his teeth with disappointment and rage 
— rage at his hostess especially, whom in his heart he ac- 
cused of trying to entrap him, by a show of wealth, into a 
marriage with herself. And he resolved to “ -pay her off,” 
as he expressed it, by continuing to accept her hospitality 
and patronage and enjoying all the comforts and luxuries 
of Kader Idris just as long and as fully as he possibly 
could, and then, when the crisis should come, by going off* 
and breaking her heart. 

Ruminating over these worthy projects he rode slowly 
^on until he reached Kader Idris. 

But that very day he was destined to be undeceived as 
to his false suspicions and posted up as to the true state 
of the case. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


497 


That day Mrs. Llewellyn bad determined that on the 
next morning she would set out for Washington in search 
of Gladys, whom she felt certain she should find hiding at 
Ceres Cottage. But even while she was making prepara- 
tions for her departure, she received the morning mail, con- 
taining, among other parcels, the Washington papers. 
Glancing over these latter, her eyes happened to fall on 
the two advertisements, one under the other in the saffie 
column, that had been put in by poor Gladys. 

Her face lighted up with fiendish triumph as she read 
them ; for, of course, she recognized at once, in the adver- 
tiser her deeply-wronged fugitive ward. No other but 
Gladys would have advertised for Lieutenant Arthur 
Powis. And, besides, the advertisement was signed by 
Gladys’ own initials. And the next advertisement for the 
situation of a governess, was written in the same style and 
signed by the same initials ; and therefore, of course, must 
have been put in by the same person, and that person was 
Gladys Powis. 

Here then was a trap unconsciously set by the poor girl 
herself. All that Mrs. Llewellyn would have to do, would 
be to put on the bait and pull the string, and the game 
would be secured. In other words, she only need answer 
the advertisement for the situation of governess, by offer- 
ing more liberal terms than it was possible any one else 
should offer ; — ^by forbearing to ask for references, as it 
was certain any one else would do ; — and by signing the 
letter with a fictitious name and appointing a place of 
meeting on the soil of Yirginia, where Gladys, unable to 
prove her marriage in time, would drop legally into her 
guardian’s power. 

This plan she knew would save a world of scheming, 
that she would have had to have gone through, had Gladys 
remained with the old ladies at Ceres Cottage, under the 
protection of the laws of Maryland. 

And before the day was out, she imparted enough of hei 
31 


49a 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


plans to Mr. Nugent as would enable him to become her 
intelligent confederate. 

She did not, however, admit him into her full confidence; 
for to do so would have been to confess herself to be an 
unprincipled wretch, and by inference to declare her belief 
that he himself was no better. And refined villains do not 
go to work in that way. It is only your rude, unsophisti- 
c^ed, comparatively innocent rascals, those that plan the 
robbing of a bank or the murder of a traveller, who are 
perfectly honest with each other and call things by their 
right names, and apply to acts their true motives. Your 
refined and accomplished villains, on the contrary, keep up 
a thin show of honor and mutual respect, and pretend to 
deceive themselves and each other. 

Thus Mrs. Llewellyn, knowing in her deepest conscious- 
ness that Nugent was an abominable wretch, who had de- 
servedly been turned out of his parish by his congregation, 
and would soon be ungowned by his clerical brethren in 
council, still treated him as if she believed him to be an 
honorable man ; yes, treated him so, even when telling him 
a story and making him a proposal that any intelligent 
man must immediately see through, and any honest man 
repudiate in disgust. 

She told him that her ward. Miss Llewelljm, had been 
betrothed by her parents to her son, Mr. Stukely ; but that 
she was, alas ! weak-minded almost to fatuity ; that she had 
run off with a fortune-hunter, who had deserted her, and 
who had afterwards met his death by an accident ; and that 
now she wished the marriage ceremony between her ward 
and her son to be very privately performed, as soon as she 
could get possession of the person of the unhappy girl, who 
was now, she said, staying at a cheap, disreputable board- 
ing-house in Washington, from which she was going the 
next day to bring her. She further declared that her sole 
object w^as now the salvation of that wretched girl. But 
that* the very nature of the circumstances rendered it 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 499 

necessary that some clergyman who was a confidential friend 
of the family should officiate. Finally, she hinted that the 
fee given to the officiating clergyman on the occasion of the 
marriage of an heir of the house of Llewelljui, was never 
less than one thousand dollars. And that — though she 
knew Mr. Nugent was entirely above such mercenary con- 
siderations, yet she begged his permission to state that on 
the marriage of its sole heiress the fee would be doubled. 

At this the eyes of the false minister shone with a lurid 
lustre. 

He knew in his heart that the woman who spoke to him 
was a devil, past the possibility of pardon, yet he answered 
her as though he considered her an angel of light. 

He said that of course he knew she could only have the 
best welfare of her unhappy ward at heart ; that he hoped 
the young lady, weak-minded as she might be, might still 
have sense enough to appreciate such devotion on the part 
of her guardian ; that, for himself, he could not sufficiently 
admire such generosity and disinterestedness as he had the 
happiness to witness in his fair and honored hostess and 
friend, who was thus willing to sacrifice the widow’s only 
treasure, her sole son, to reclaim this erring girl. Finally, 
he assured her that he should feel bound by every tie of 
honor, admiration, and gratitude, to hold himself at her 
orders. And he misquoted Milton : 

What thou eommand’st, 

IJnargued I obey.” 

Mrs. Llewellyn warmly thanked him, and they parted. 

When Mrs. Llewellyn w^as alone she smiled to herself as 
’’she thought : He understands the whole thing. But I do 
not care, since he does not dare to show that he understands 
it ; and, more than all, that he does not hesitate to sell me 
his aid ; he does not, in fact, hesitate at any thing which he 
thinks will bring a remunerative return. 

When Mr. Nugent found /umseZ/ alone, he thought: 


500 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


That woman is an unscrupulous wretcli, who means to 
betray her helpless ward into a marriage with her imbecile 
son, so that she, herself, may enjoy the wealth of Kader 
Idris, and manage its vast revenues for the term of her 
natural life ! for, of course, these two miserable young 
people, if the girl is as feeble-minded as the young man, 
W’ill be but as babies in her hands. They will not even 
have a dollar of pocket-money that she will not dole out to 
them. And she wishes to use me as her tool to accomplish 
all this. Well, so long as she does not presume to unmask 
her villainy to me ; so long as she treats me as an honest 
man, and puts all her actions upon honorable grounds ; 
and, above all, so long as she pays me well, I will serve her 
turn! And afterward, she shall serve wiy turn I For if 
there should be any thing the least irregular in this mar- 
riage — as I am sure there will be, or she would never go 
to the trouble and expense of bringing me into the affair — 
I shall know that its legftlit}" is veiy questionable indeed. 
And I shall thus have a hold upon Mrs. Llewellyn, and 
the revenues of the Kader Idris estate, that even she will 
not dare to deny. 

Late that same evening, Mrs. Llewell}^ had another in- 
terview with her confederate. She told him that she wished 
to leave her house and household in his care during her 
necessary absence in Washington. And she put a parcel 
of twelve small powders in his hands, and told him that 
they were the prescriptions of a celebrated physician of 
Kew York for her son, who was in a precarious state of 
health ; but that the young man was so unreasonably 
opposed to taking wholesome medicine, that she was obliged 
to drop one of these powders into his first cup of coffee in 
the morning, and into his first cup of tea in the evening. 
She further requested him to manage to be the first at the 
breakfast and at the tea-table, and to put one of these 
powders into her son’s cup, and cover it with a little milk 
and sugar to hide it, so that he might take his wdiolesome 
physic without knowing it. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


601 


Nugent, though convinced that some deep villainy lay 
concealed under the secret administration of these pow- 
ders, yet promised all she wished. 

The next day Mrs. Llewellyn set out, not for Washing- 
ton, but for Alexandria, which she intended to make her 
headquarters during her infamous campaign. 

From Alexandria she went by stage to Dranesville, to 
post that lying letter which had decoyed poor Gladys into 
her power. 

And on the appointed day she went in her new carriage 
and pair to meet her and entrap her as we have seen. 

She had now again her victim in her possession. And 
her plans were all once more arranged for action. And she 
was sitting in the library awaiting the entrance of that 
willing tool who was to ensure her success. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

THE FORTUNATE THIRD TRIAL. 


Never give up ! it is wiser and better 
Always to hope than once to despair, 

Fling off the load of doubt’s heavy fetter 
And break the dark spell of tyrannical care. 

Never give up 1 or the burden may sink you, 

Providence wisely has mingled the cup ; 

And in all trials and troubles bethink you. 

The watchword of life should be — Never give up! — M. F. Tapper . 

It is certain that if a bad man were always labelled 
villain” by physiognomy his career in crime would 
speedily be cut short, or, perhaps, it would never eVen be 
begun. But, unfortunately, this is not generally so. At 
some former period in the history of the human race 
characters and countenances may have been in harmony ; 
but not now. It is likely a man may inherit his features 
from one ancestor and his disposition from another ; and 


502 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


these two may have been as opposite in their natures as 
light and darkness. 

One of the most kindly, happy and charming-looking 
portraits we ever saw was that of a “ gentleman” who had 
been convicted and executed for poisoning several of his 
dearest friends and nearest relatives. 

And one of the most diabolical-looking physiognomies 
that ever chilled the blood in the veins of the beholder was 
that of an antique bust on exhibition at the Crystal Palace 
in London, and labelled — Tiberius the Good ! 

After that we ceased to judge of character by coun- 
tenances. 

There was certainly nothing to repel confidence, or to 
arouse suspicion, in the fair face and blue eyes of the grace- 
ful young man who answered Mrs. Llewellyn’s summons to 
the library. 

“ Sit down, Mr. Nugent,” said the lady. 

The young man bowed and complied. 

“ You expected me home to-day ?” 

“ I scarcely knew whether to expect you. I feared that 
you would be detained by the snow-storm.” 

‘‘ But you see I have not been. And I hope there has 
been no delay in your part.” 

“ Oh, no, madam ; every thing that has been left to my 
charge is quite ready.” 

“You have the license 

The young man took the document from his pocket and 
put it in her hands. 

“ Quite right. I hope you remembered to invite the 
tenantry on the estate ?” 

“Yes, madam.” 

“ I consider it necessary that they should attend ; for, 
though I see that you have taken care to get out a special 
license for this marriage, still I choose that it shall be 
solemnized as publicly as it can be done in a private house, 
lest any carper should in future take exceptions to the 
ceremony as having been too privately performed.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


503 


Mr. Nugent bowed his acquiescence to the prudence of 
these measures. 

“And now about my son, the bridegroom elect. What 
have you been doing to him to reduce him to the state in 
which I find him asked the lady, very gravely. 

“ I have simply given him the powders according to 
your direction.” 

“ What ! have you given him no more than two a day ?” 

“ No more than that, madam. And if you will recollect 
how many powders you gave me, and how many days you 
have been absent, you will see that I could not have given 
him more.” 

“ True. It was I who miscalculated his strength. And 
now, Mr. Nugent, I believe that is all I have to say to you 
at present. In future I will reward your zeal,” said the 
lady, terminating the interview. 

At a very early hour of the evening the tenants and de- 
pendants of the Llewellyn estate, dressed in their holiday 
attire, began to assemble at Kader Idris. Full of wonder 
were they at the honor that had been done them, and full 
of conjecture as to the reason why the marriage had been 
fixed, by special license, to take place at such an unusual 
hour. But so that they saw the show in the drawing-room, 
and partook of the feast that had been prepared for them 
in the dining-room, they troubled themselves but little 
about the motives and actions of their betters. 

When all was ready below stairs — when every room was 
brilliantly lighted up, and every window dazzlingly illu- 
minated, when the humble wedding-guests were crowded, 
not sitting but standing along the walls of the drawing- 
room, leaving a way clear for the entrance of the wedding 
party — then Mrs. Llewellyn went up into the chamber 
w'here Gladys still lay like a beautiful automaton on her bed. 

Unassisted, the woman lifted the light, flexible form of 
the helpless girl and placed her on a chair, and then pro- 
ceeded to dress her, for the third time in wedding clothes. 


/ 

504 : THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

Rather awkwardly and clumsil}^ she did this ; but then 
Mrs. Llewellyn cared very little whether her pale and 
almost lifeless 3"Oung victim were well or ill dressed so that 
she was safel}^ married. 

When she had finished this miserable toilet, to the last 
acts of putting the crushed wu’eath on the head and arrang- 
ing the crumpled vail over the form of Gladys, Mrs. Llew'- 
ellyn laid her back in her chair, and went to look for her son. 

She found Mr. Stukely seated where he had remained 
ever since dinner — in an easy-chair, before the fire, in his 
own room. 

He had forgotten all about his toilet ! 

'And it was now too late to make any considerable 
change in it. Something, however, must be done. 

“James Stukel^^,’’ shouted his mother in his ear, as she 
shook him roughly, and put his dress coat in his hand, “get 
up and put on this I” 

“ Extraordi ” begun the young gentleman, as he me- 

chanically arose and obeyed. 

“And now put on these.” 

“Ah, ind ” commenced Mr. Stukely, drawing on the 

white kid gloves that she gave him. 

“And now come with me,” she said, taking his arm. 

“All ri ” began Mr. Stukely, but he forgot to finish 

his sentence. 

Mrs. Llewellyn led him to the room where Gladys, with 
her benumbed senses, still sat reclining in her chair. 

“ Come here, take one of your cousin’s arms, and help 
me to lead her down stairs.” 

“Just s ’’began Mr. Stukely; but he seemed fated 

never to finish even one of his own short sentences. 

And Gladys, with her face entirely concealed by the bridal 
vail that had been drawn over it, was lifted to her feet by 
the united efforts of Mrs. Llewellyn and Mr. Stukel}^, and 
led and guided between them dowm the stairs, and through 
the hall, and into the lighted and crowded drawing-room, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


505 


where all the humble wedding guests stood around against 
the walls in eager expectation, and where the officiating 
clergyman stood in the centre of the room in readiness. 

On the entrance of the bridal part}’- a buzz of comment 
went through the assembly. 

“ Good gracious, how weak she seems I more dead than 
alive I” was, in better or worse language, the burden of 
these comments ; until at length Mr. Nugent lifted his 
hand, in a peremptory manner, as a signal for silence, and 
the murmuring ceased, while Gladys, supported between 
Mr. Stukely and Mrs. Llewellyn, was led up and stood 
before the minister. 

In the midst of a breathless silence, that was only occa- 
sionally interrupted by the entrance of a late guest, the 
ceremony commenced. 

First was read the solemn preliminary exhortation, to 
which Mr. Stukely began to respond ; 

“ Extrr but, as usual, broke down before he finished 

the word. 

This response, however, seemed to be considered quite 
regular by the obliging minister, who immediately passed 
on to the important question, addressed to the bridegroom : 

“James — Wilt thou take this woman to be thy wedded 
wife, to live together after God’s ordinance, in the holy 
estate of matrimony ?” 

To this Mr. Stukely promptly answered : 

“Ah, ind ” and then stopped and stared in dumb dis- 

may at the door, through which some new guests seemed 
to be entering. 

But this fragmentary answer also seemed quite satisfac- 
tory to the complaisant clergyman, who was proceeding to 
put a similar question to the bride, when suddenly the book 
was sent fiying from his paralyzed hand, the bridegroom 
w'as hurled spinning into the midst of the astounded crowd, 
and Gladys was caught fainting to the sheltering bosom 
of Arthur Powis, who, like an avenging spirit, stood among 
them I 


506 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


CHAPTER L. 

VENGEANCE. 

When purposed vengeance I forego, 

Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe. 

And when this insult I forgive. 

Brand me as a slave and live ! — Scott. 

Mr. Stukely, hurled through the crowd, by the strong 
arm of Arthur Powis, struck the opposite wall where he 
stood erect, with rigid form, stiffened limbs, pallid face, 
and starting eyes, gasping and chattering : 

“ Ex — ex — ex — ex — ex — ex — traordinary I’^ 

The spectators cautiously drew near and gathered 
around the bridal party, and stood gazing at them in 
amazement. 

Arthur Powis firmly supported the drooping form of 
Gladys, and softly whispered re-assuring words into her 
ears. 

The Reverend Mr. Nugent remained passive, with his eyes 
demurely fixed upon the fioor, probably understanding the 
whole case, and considering whether he had not better save 
himself by turning state’s evidence. 

Mrs. Jay Llewellyn, still strong in her evil will, was the 
first to recover her self-possession and powers of speech. 
Though really appalled by deadly terror and dismay, she 
turned upon the intruder a front of haughty defiance, and 
fiercely demanded : 

“ What means this violent outrage, sir ?” 

“What means it, madam?” retorted Arthur Powis, 
sternly. “ It means that the day of dire retribution has 
overtaken you, in the midst of your crimes ! And that 
neither your sex nor your rank shall save you from the 
felon’s dock, or the convict’s cell, that certainly await you. ” 
Then turning to the constable, and pointing to the woman, 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 507 

he added : “ Officer, there stands your prisoner. Do your 
duty.” 

“Jane Jay Llewellyn,” said Constable McRay, ad- 
vancing and laying his hand upon her shoulder — “you 
are my prisoner I” 

“Prisoner!” indignantly exclaimed the womans dashing 
off the profaning hand and recoiling from the offensive 
presence of the constable; “prisoner! How dare you, 
fellow !” 

“ I arrest you upon the charge of abduction and attempted 
murder !” persisted McRay, following her up and taking a 
firm grip of her shoulder. 

Murder echoed the crowd, in consternation. 

“ Hands off, you villain !” shrieked Mrs. Llewellyn, 
violently shaking herself free once more. 

“Madam, I should be sorry to be forced to resort to 
extreme measures, but the charge is a serious one,” said 
the constable, very gravely, as he put his hand in his great 
coat pocket, and drew forth a pair of ornaments more re- 
markable for strength than elegance of workmanship, and 
of the use of which Mrs. Llewellyn had not the slightest idea. 

Some one else had, however. In the twinkling of an 
eye Mr. Stukely dashed through the crowd and struck the 
handcuffs from the hold of the constable. 

Poor boy I In all his weakness and folly he possessed 
one redeeming quality — it was his love for his most un- 
worthy parent. And her personal danger had done what 
no other circumstance in the case had been able to do : it 
had stimulated his half palsied faculties to action. And 
now he came forward, her sole defender ; not a very power- 
ful or eloquent one, as you will soon see, but the best that 
was to be had. 

“Oh, I say, look here, you know ! none of that now ; I 
wont have it, you know ! ’Taint fair, so many on one 
woman, you know! She’s my mother, and so help me 
Bob ! I wont have her bullied, you know,” he said, elbow- 


508 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


ing his way between the surprised constable and the priso- 
ijer, and rolling up his sleeves, and preparing to show fight. 

“ Stand out of the way, fellow I” said the constable, 
collaring him and fiinging him on one side. 

“ He is the other prisoner named in the warrant — arrest 
him,” said Arthur Powis, gravely. 

“ Oh, he is, is he ?” said the other constable, picking up 
the handcuffs and catching hold of Mr. Stukely. “Well, 
we’ll make short work of him” 

And in a trice the fetters were snapped upon the young 
gentleman’s wrists. 

Mr. Stukely raised his hands and gazed at the bracelets 
with a stupefied expression on his blank face, and then 
liftiug his eyes to his captor, naively inquired : 

“ What’s that for ?” 

“ For resisting a warrant,” replied the officer. 

“ For resisting a warrant ? I didn’t resist a warrant I” 
said Mr. Stukely, gazing in dismay first upon the constable’s 
face and then upon his own handcuffed wrists. 

“ You resisted the warrant for the arrest of this prisoner,” 
said the constable, placing his hand on the shoulder of Mrs. 
Llewellyn, who again angrily dashed it ofl*. 

“ Oh I I did, did I ? And so you have taken me instead 
of her! All right I I’m agreed 1 I would rather these 
things be on my wrists than hers a thousand times ! For, 
you see, it wasn’t she anyway who was going to marry an- 
other woman’s husband — I mean another man’s wife. How 
could she marry Cousin Gladys ? It isn’t likel}^ What 
would have been the use ? It would have been impossible, 
you know.” 

“ End this scene, for Heaven’s sake I OfiScers, take away 
your prisoners and clear the room ! My dear wife is suf- 
fering extremely through all this, and needs rest and atten- 
tion,” said Arthur Powis. 

“Oh, I say now! look here I let her go, will you!” ex- 
claimed Mr. Stukely, anxiously, seeing that the constable 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


509 


had again advanced toward Mrs. Llewellyn. “ Ob, dear, 
Arthur, look here now I make them let her go, will you ? 
It was not she, it was I that wanted to marry Cousin 
Gladys! It was indeed I But I didn’t get her, so what’s 
the odds ? who’s hurt ?” he added, appealing pathetically 
to the prosecutor. 

“ What’s the odds ? Who’s hurt? You scoundrel! do 
you dare to ask ? Look at my wife ! Look at your own 
and your mother’s work ! Officers, in the name of Heaven, 
do your duty, unflinchingly !” thundered Arthur Powis. 

“Oh, now see here! look here now! I. did not know 
what I was doing when I was standing up here to be married 
to Cousin Gladys ! I didn’t indeed, gentlemen. I must 
have been walking in my sleep ! I am sure I must ! I 
know if I had been wide awake I wouldn’t have done it. 

I know I wouldn’t ; because if it had been left to me, and 
I wide awake, I had a great deal rather married Nelly 
Blythe, the j^oung lady that makes my shirts at college ! 
But Lord help me, it seems to me as if ever since mother 
took me home from college the world has always been 
turning round and round with me ; and I have been always 
marrying Cousin Gladys in a dream ; and somebody’s 
been always interrupting the proceedings, and making a 
muss ; and I have been always getting more kicks than 
half-pence in it all ; and, yes ! so help me. Bob ! in some 
shape or another, that fellow has alwaj^s been turning up ! 
And I hope he has turned up for good this time !” 

“ I hope I have !” said Arthur Powis, grimly. Then turn- 
ing to the constable, he sternl}^ inquired, while a dangerous 
light flashed in his eyes — “ Officers will you or will you 
not execute the warrants that you bear ?” 

“We will execute them, sir,” said Constable McKay, 
deprecatingly. “ Ours is a most unpleasant duty, espe-' 
daily as it relates to the arrest of a lady; but we must 
do it.” 

Then going up to Mrs. Llewellyn, he once more laid his 
hand upon her shrinking shoulder, while he said; 


510 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Madam, I have already executed my warrant for your 
arrest. You already are my prisoner, and haA^e been so 
for the last ten minutes. Now, dear madam, I wish to be 
as polite and as reasonable as possible, if you will be the 
same. Just ring and order your carriage, if you please, 
and you shall ride to town in it, and I will attend you as 
obsequiously as if I was your hired groom,” said Consta- 
ble McRay, persuasively, though withal a little ironi- 
cally.” 

“And if I do not, fellow, what then?” haughtily de- 
manded the lady. 

“ If you do not, madam — Well, 5^ou know the little old 
saying about the bird that can sing and wont sing ; how 
it must be made to sing, don^t you ?” 

“ What do you mean by that, fellow ?” 

“ Why, if you wont go with us willingly, or at least 
quietly, we must take you as we can, that is all,” said the 
constable, grimly. 

“No, you wont though! not if I know it I” cried Mr. 
Stukely, striving desperately to free himself from his hand- 
cuffs. 

Mrs. Llewellyn looked from her vainly-struggling son to 
the greatly wondering crowd around her. And suddenly, as 
by an inspiration of the devil, she appealed to them. 
Stretching forth her hands, she said : 

“ Friends ! if I have any friends present, hear me I I 
appeal to you, not on my own behalf ; because I am but a 
comparative stranger among you, having lived on this es- 
tate but a few years ! I appeal to you on behalf of its heir- 
ess, the daughter of your late landlord. General Llewellyn, 
and the lady of this manor, upon which you have all lived 
so long and so prosperously.” 

She paused, and the rude men around her began to look 
fierce and to handle their walking-sticks. 

“ You are a score of honest men against less than half- 
a-dozen ruffians who have forced themselves into this 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 511 


house ; no doubt, whatever their pretended motives may be, 
with the real motives of robbery and violence ! You must 
see and know that I And, therefore, I feel sure that you 
will protect us against them !” continued the lady. 

“ We will I we will I” exclaimed the men, brandishing 
their walking-sticks, and closing around Mrs. Llewellyn 
and her son with the intention of rescuing them. 

“ Hold I” exclaimed Arthur Powis, in a voice of thunder, 
at which the rude crowd immediately recoiled. 

“ Are you men ? sane men ? honest men ? And do you 
know what 3^ou do ? Pause and listen while I tell you !” he 
continued, advancing and confronting them, while he sup-^ 
ported Gladys’ drooping head upon his left shoulder, and 
pointed to her with his right hand. 

“ That woman has appealed to you on behalf of this young 
lady, the daughter of your late beloved landlord, and the 
mistress of this manor I Look at this young creature, all 
of you, and know that to this state she has been reduced 
by the poisonous drugs administered to her by that woman. 
And attend, while these persons, who are not thieves and 
ruffians as she has falsely represented them to be, but who 
are officers of the law, sent to arrest her upon the charge of 
abduction and attempted murder, read their warrant for 
her apprehension ! — Constable McRay, advance, if you 
please, and read, for the instruction of these men, your 
warrant for the arrest of Jane Jay Llewellyn and others !” 

Arthur fell back to give place to the officer. McRay 
came forward, and opened his warrant, and began to read 
it. The men grounded their walking-sticks, scratched 
their heads, and listened. 

The charges were for abduction, poisoning, and insti- 
gating an assassination. 

“Abduction— what’s that?” asked one countryman. 

“ Kidnapping,” replied one. 

“No, it aint; it’s child-stealing,” said another. 

“ No such thing ; it’s coaxing niggers to run away,” said 
a third. 


512 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“Poisoning — oh, Lord I” exclaimed a fourth — “any 
thing but poisoning !” 

“And assassina Why, that’s highway robbery and 

murder !” whispered a fifth. 

“ Can 3'ou not see that all this is a miserable calumny 
and forgery ? Is it likely that I w’ould be guilty of such 
crimes ? or that any magistrate would believe it, and issue 
a warrant for my arrest upon such charges ?” demanded 
Mrs. Llewelhm, with consummate effrontery. 

“ No, indeed !” answered several voices. 

“And 3^ou will not, I am sure, allow that false document 
to be executed upon me !” 

“ No !” vociferated the countrymen, flourishing their 
sticks. 

“My men!” said Arthur Powis, sternly confronting 
them once more, “you know not what you do when you 
violently resist the execution of a warrant. A'ou are free 
men now ; and your force is five times as great as that of 
the officers of the law here present, and you can, perhaps, 
easily overcome them by the power of superior num- 
bers ” 

•“A3'e 1 that you can I And by the weight of a better 
cause !” put in Mrs. Llewellyn. 

“ But mind,” continued Arthur, “ if j’ou do resist the 
execution of this warrant, you who are free men to-night 
will to-morrow find yourselves prisoners between four 
walls, with the prospect of l3dng in gaol through the whole 
winter, until the spring term of the court opens, and then 
with the certainty of a further term of imprisonment in 
the State penitentiary. How would you like that? Do 
3^ou think it would pa3’'?” 

Nobody answered at once ; but there seemed to be a 
divided opinion. Some subsided into non-resistance, and 
others growled words to the effect that they were not to be 
frightened by threats, and that they were willing to risk 
life and liberty in defence of a lady any time. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 513 

“Xo doubt of it,” said Arthur Powis, heartily; “but let 
it be in the defence of the innocent and injured lady, not 
of the guilty and tyrannical one. Let it be in defence of 
your rightful liege lady, and not of the usurper who tried 
to rob her of her property, her liberty, and even of her 
life.” 

While Arthur spoke earnestly, and the men listened at- 
tentively, a new ally advanced to his aid — the Reverend 
Mr. Nugent, the late confederate of Mrs. Jay Llewellyn. 
You know, reader, that we all agreed long ago that we did 
not believe in the often-quoted “honor among thieves.” 
And, therefore, we need not be surprised that the astute 
Mr. Nugent, since the reading of the warrant, saw imme- 
diately the most prudent course for himself to pursue, and 
determined to pursue it. In other words, he resolved to 
desert his companion in crime, and to come over to her 
proseciftor, which he did in the following manner : Taking 
his place beside Arthur Powis, and stretching out both 
hands toward the excited crowd as though he were, about 
to pronounce a benediction, or to offer up a prayer, he be- 
gan to speak to them : 

“ My Christian brethren, I am a minister of the gospel — 
and as such, I beg you will grant me a hearing, and follow 
my advice. My young friend here, who, I am given to un- 
derstand, is Lieutenant Arthur Powis — of the navy — the 
friend of the late General Llewell}^, and the husband of 
his only daughter, is quite right in all that he sa3^s and 
does in these premises. And, my brethren, alas I I must, 
with great pain, admit that this misguided, guilty, and lost 
woman, is always and altogether wrong in all that she says 
and does ” 

Oh, wretch P hissed Mrs. Llewellyn, with a glare of 
hatred. 

“ My friends,” continued Nugent, solemnly, “I do not 
regard the vituperative abuse of this unhappy woman. 
My sole concern is for you, lest you be drawn down into 
32 


514 : 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


the depths of her destruction. My brethren, there is a 
warrant out against this ruined woman, to arrest her upon 
the gravest 'charges that could be brought against any hu- 
man being ! charges for no less dark crimes than poisoning 
and assassination ! For you to resist this warrant would 
be to criminate yourselves as aiders and abettors of her 
crimes, and as accessories after the fact to all her poison- 
ings and assassinations — and thus to render yourselves 
liable to pains and penalties of the law which I should 
dread to think of!” 

This address produced a terrible effect upon the unlet- 
tered crowd, who had certainly no desire to be in any de- 
gree implicated in capital crimes. 

McRa}^, taking advantage of their momentary panic, 
stepped forward and said : 

“And I, James McRa}", constable, in the name of the 
commonwealth, call on all good and true men, to aid me in 
the execution of these warrants and in the putting down 
of all resistance to them.” 

There was a momentary falling back and a low-toned 
conversation among the crowd, but no one offered to inter- 
fere either on one side or the other. 

Then Mrs. Llewellyn with a proud and scornful smile, 
advanced and said : 

“You shall not need to summon a posse comitatus to 
arrest one frail woman, brave men ! Give me but time to 
put on my bonnet and shawl and order my carriage and I 
will go with you. But for you, base, crawling worm I” she 
hissed, looking with supreme contempt upon her late coad- 
jutor and tool — for you, know that I did not take you into 
,my confidence, before getting you into my power. I paid 
the detectives in New York to secretly investigate your 
history I And I am in possession of facts and of proofs, 
which forwarded to the convention of your church, will 
crush you to atoms, will grind you to dust, reptile I — And 
as for you, presumptuous fool! wretch! devil!” she ex- 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


515 


claimed, fiercely turning and glaring with intolerable scorn 
and hatred upon Arthur Powis — “as for you, look to your- 
self 1 my revenge is complete! And look to your bride I 
She carries certain death within her bosom 

And so saying, Mrs. Llewellyn turned to go to her room. 

“ Follow her, McRay ! Do not lose sight of her for one 
moment ! She is cunning enough to make her escape I 
And more than that she is reckless enough to destroy her 
own life ! And I would — I would neither have the ends of 
justice defeated, nor her own soul finally lost,” added 
Arthur Powis, as the officer, who was quite as vigilant as 
would be desired, attended Mrs. Llewellyn to her chamber, 
to keep her in sight. 

“ Oh I say Arthur, look here, now, you know I You wont 
be hard on her, will you ?” Mr. Stukely began to plead. 

“ I am sorry for you, Stukely ; but the matter has passed 
out of my control into that of the law, and so must take its 
course,” replied Arthur Powis, as he lifted Gladys in his 
arms, carried her to a sofa, laid her down and knelt be- 
side her, and gazed anxiously and tenderly upon her wan, 
white face. 

She was living, breathing, and looking upon him, but 
with a strange expression, which was rather that of 
lethargy than of unconsciousness. 

“ Gladys,” he said gently, “ do you know me, darling ?” 

“Yes; I know you, Arthur: and I shall live,” she mur- 
mured with a sweet smile as her eyes closed as in perfect 
rest. All this calmness was no doubt the lingering efiects 
of the drugs that had been given her. 

While Arthur knelt besides his recovered young wife, he 
heard the constables passing through the hall, carrying 
away their prisoners. 

“ The examination is fixed for ten o’clock to-morrow, 
sir,” said one of the constables who led out Mr. Stukely. 

“ I will be there,” answered Arthur. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Nugent had been officiously engaged in 


516 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

clearing the house of the wedding guests, with the last of 
whom he himself departed. So Arthur and Glad3"s were 
left alone in perfect peace. 


CHAPTER LI. 

PERFECT PEACE. 

Come dove of peace, benignant guest, 

Return and make thy downy nest 
Once more in this sad heart. 

Nor riches I, nor power pursue, 

Nor hold forbidden joys in view, 

We therefore need not part . — English Reader. 

All night long Arthur Powis sat by the couch of 
Gladys to watch his recovered treasure. The malignant 
words of that most malignant woman — “ Look to your 
wife, for she carries certain death in her bosom,” — rang in 
his ears, so that he dared not take his eyes from the fair, 
wan, lovely face of Gladys. 

All night long, in the hall below, a groom waited up, 
while in the stables a fast horse stood ready saddled for 
him to start at a moment’s notice, should it become neces- 
sary to send in haste for a physician to come to Gladys. 

But these precautions proved to be needless. 

Gladys, with her hand clasped in that of Arthur’s, sweetly 
dropped asleep. And she slept well through the night. 
Only once. she started from a dream, tightened her clasp 
upon the hand of Arthur and then feeling sure of his pres- 
ence, sank to rest again. 

It was late in the morning and the winter’s sun was 
shining brightly in the chamber, when she opened her 
eyes. Their first glances were raised to the lace of 
Arthur, who was still seated in the resting chair beside her 
bed. And such a smile lighted up her face, as had not been 
seen there’ since she had lost him. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


517 


“ It is no dream then I you are here ? You are really 
here !” she whispered. 

“ I am here — never, while w^e both live, never to leave 
you again !’’ murmured Arthur, bending over her and ten- 
derly caressing her. 

But she, as if she then for the first time, fully realized 
the fact of his presence, suddenly threw herself upon his 
bosom in a passion of sobs and tears that nearly shook her 
fragile frame to dissolution, gasping : 

“ Oh, Arthur I this is too — too much I too much joy to 
bear !” 

The most loving words, the most gentle caresses, an- 
swered her and soothed her emotion in quietness again. 

'' It is you, it is really and truly you,” she murmured, look- 
ing at him wistfully. “ It is indeed you ; but, oh, Arthur ! 
how ill you look ! how very ill ! And you have watched 
beside me all night I I know you have ! Why did you do 
it, dearest? why didn’t you go to sleep ?” 

“ My own loved Gladys, do you think that sleep could 
have rested and refreshed me half so much as the constant 
sight of your face — your dear face that has been so long 
absent from my view — your dear face that my eyes have so 
long hungered to behold.” 

“But it was so selfish in me to drop asleep then! I 
ought to have kept awake with you I” 

“ You could not help falling asleep, my ownd^^ding, any 
more than you could have helped sinking if you had been 
dropped into the sea.” 

“ No; I don’t know that I could. Oh, Arthur, it seems 
to me that since I lost you one half of my days have been 
passed in dreamless sleep and the other half in sleepless 
dreams — that is to say, in unconsciousness or in reverie.” 

“ I know it, my love. I know it all. You have been 
dragged nearly to destruction. Nothing but your youth 
and strength saved you from insanity or death. But it is 
all over now, my own dear Gladys ! it is over f(S|*ever 1” 


518 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ You knew all this I How did you know it ? And how 
did you find out where I was ?” inquired Gladys, eagerly. 

“ Partly from the old ladies at the cottage, and partly by 
accident,” smiled Arthur. 

“And not at all through my advertisement ?” 

“Ah, my poor darling ! your innocent advertisement 
served no other purpose than to give that ruthless woman 
a clue to your residence, at the same time that it afforded 
her the means to entrap you.” 

“ I know that,” said Gladj^s, with a sigh. 

It was noticeable through all this interview that neither 
the young husband nor the 3^oung wife either felt or ex- 
l^ressed the least distrust of each other ; although there was 
in the circumstance much that must have created distrust 
had their faith in each other been less perfect. Arthur 
never for a moment doubted the constancy of Gladys, even 
though he had seen her standing up before a clergyman to 
be married to another. And Gladys never suspected the 
fidelity of Arthur, even though he had been unaccountably 
absent from her for a whole year. 

“ You saved me in the crisis of my fate, dear Arthur. It 
must have been another attempt at a false marriage that 
you interrupted,” said Gladys. 

“ Iti, was,” replied Arthur, gravely. 

“ I thought so,” exclaimed Gladys, with a shudder. 
“ But y(^i will believe me, dear Arthur, when I tell you 
that I had no idea what was passing around me. I knew 
nothing but confusion until I found myself clasped to your 
heart. And then I seemed to awake. Oh ! it was horrible ! 
It was like being roused from sleep-walking on the edge of 
a precipice I” cried Gladys, with a shudder. 

“ But you were roused by the hand that snatched you 
from the precipice. Let that thought calm you; but do 
not let your mind dw^ell long upon that horrible danger. 
It is past, m}’ beloved. It is past forever, and you are 
safe.” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 519 

And you never doubted me, Arthur ?” 

“No, never, my own wife. Have I not known you from 
your childhood ! How could I have doubted you ? But 
you, Gladys. What do you think of my long, unexplained 
absence inquired Arthur, with a smile. 

“Ah! I do not know what to think, except that it was 
caused by the machinations of our common enemy.” 

“ And you never, even in your heart blamed me ?” 

“ Never, Arthur I I can give you back your own words 
— ‘ Have I not known you from your childhood ? How 
could I have doubted you ” 

“ Some day, dear Gladys, when you are stronger, I have 
a strange story to tell you ; until then you must trust me.” 

“As always,” returned Gladys. 

Just then there was a rap at the door. 

Arthur went and opened it. 

“ If you please, sir, the carriage you ordered to be at the 
door at eight o’clock, has been waiting some time,” said 
the voice of a man-servant without. 

“ Quite right ; let it wait a few moments longer,” replied 
Arthur Powis, closing the door. 

“My dearest love,” he said, as he returned to the bed- 
side of his wife, “ the examination of Mrs. Llewellyn and 
her accomplices is to come off at ten o’clock this morning, 
before Squire Browning at Stand well. As I am the prose- 
cutor, I must attend. Now — you are very weak — very 
unfit to bear either fatigue or anxiety. I know, my own 
Gladys, exactly how it is with you now. After all that 
you have suffered in mind and body, you will scarcely be 
able either to endure the short journey to Stand well, or 
the short separation from me. But one or the other you 
must make up your mind to bear. I will leave it to you. 
Will you ride with me to Standwell, or will you remain 
here alone until I return this evening ?” 

“ Oh, I will go with you, dear Arthur. Oh, I should not 
feel safe to keep my senses if I were to be left alone here 


520 THE BRIDE OF LLE^Ii ELLYN. 


all day. I should expect to wake up and find all my hap- 
piness to have been — a dream ! Or I should dread to have 
tJiat woman spring upon me suddenly, with a sponge full 
of chloroform, and overwhelm my consciousness, and 
spirit me away. Oh, I know such fancies and such fears 
are very foolish and weak ; but they would come upon me 
and conquer me, I know. Bear wdth me a little wdiile, dear 
Arthur, until I feel stronger and safer. I will not try your 
patience very long.” 

“ I will bear with j^ou forever, m}^ Gladys. It shall be 
as 3"Ou wish. I will go down and hurry the preparations 
for our departure. And you wdll ring for 3'our maid, dear, 
and have a cup of cofiTee brought up to you at once.” 

“I do not know that I have a maid. I have been here 
but a day — a day which has passed as a terrible dream — in 
which I seem to have been attended by a demon in the 
shape of Mrs. Jay,” smiled Glad^^s. 

“I will go down and send some woman to you then. 
And remember, my gentle Gladys, that you are now sole 
mistress of this mansion. Your guardian has forfeited all 
her rights and is in the hands of the law. Why even I, 
your husband, have no power here that is not derived from 
3^ou. The terms of your father’s will secure every thing to 
his daughter, as is right.” 

“ Oh, Arthur I Arthur I don’t speak so I Do you think 
that I want any power that does not come directly from 
3^ou ? Oh, dear Arthur, if you think so j^ou do not know 
my heart! You do not know any true woman’s heart,” 
said Glad^^s, earnestly. 

’ “ I do not think so, my own love ; you mistake me, 

Glad^^s. I only wished to remind you of j^our position 
and }^our privileges. You have been so long and so bitterly 
oppressed, my darling, that 3^011 seem to have forgotten 
them.” 

“ I wish it had been the other way !” 

“ How, dearest ?” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


521 


“ I wish you had been the heir of Kader Idris and I had 
been some poor girl. I know you would have loved me all 
the same 

, “ Heaven knows I would ” 

“And you would have been so glad to have given me 
every thing ; and I should have been so happy to have re- 
ceived it from you I” 

Arthur laughed and stooped and kissed her, saying : 

“ You discontented little creature. It does not matter 
one bit who owns the title deeds of this estate, 3^011 or I, so 
that we have each other.’’ 

“ Well, if it doesn’t matter to you, I am sure it needn’t 
to me,” replied Gladys, in the same spirit. 

Arthur left the room, and his departure was almost in- 
stantlj^ followed by the entrance of one at the sight of 
whom Gladys sprang up, exclaiming : 

“ Oh, Ailie !” 

“ Oh, Miss Gladys I” cried the woman, running to the bed. 

And the heiress of Kader Idris clasped her arms about 
the neck of the poor servant woman, and wept with joy. 

“ I feared that you were dead, Ailie.” 

“ So did I you. Miss Gladys.” 

“ I am so glad to see you.” 

“ So am I you. Miss Gladys.” 

“ Oh ! I am so happy to-day.” 

“ And aint I den neider ! Aint I a happy ’oman dis day? 
I’s willin’ to die — no, I aint dough.. I mean as I has seen 
de desire ob my e3^es, and ought to be willin’ to die. Fust 
dar she is, layin’ in goal. Oh ho I put me dar, did she, on 
a false witness ? Now she got put dar herse’f, on a true 
witness. Oh ho ! I hopes dey’ll keep her dar, and it will 
do her good.” 

“Did Mrs. Jay put you in prison, Ailie?” said Gladj^s, 
compassionately. 

“ Didn’t she dough, neider. Miss Gladys ?” 

“ How was that ?” 


622 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Why, dat day — I mean dat night, you know, as I fotch 
you de letters from de pos’-office, and foun’ you lock’ up 
in your room, and couldn’t get out !” 

“I remember.” 

“ Well, you know, I couldn’t get in neider.” 

“So, 3^ou know, miss, I just slipi^ed the letters under- 
neaf de door ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And dey had bad news, dat made you so unhappy as 1 
couldn’t bear to go away from de door ; so I laid down on 
de mat at de outside like a dog.” 

“ Poor Ailie !” 

“ And I was so tired, sleep got the better of me ; and so 
the madam found me lying there the next morning. And 
dat same day she had me ’rested up before a magister for 
stealin’, which she falsely accused me of doing it.” 

“ Oh ! Ailie, my poor woman, how you have suffered for 
me.” 

“Hav’n’t I, dough? And aint I willin’ to suffer ag’in, 
if it could do j^ou any good ?” 

“ And — what next, Ailie ?” 

“Wh}’’, de magister ’mitted me. And dar I laid in de 
goal more’n two mont’s till de court sot. And den dey 
hadn’t proof ’nough ’g’in me to send to de penitence ; so 
dey let me olf.” 

“ My poor woman I What did 3"Ou do, then, Ailie?” 

“ Come back to de ole place, ob course, and libbed ’long 
o’ 1113' dadd3% in de cabin down b3" de mill. But de poor 
old man’s heart was a’most broken wid de shame and de 
scandal, and he hardl3" eber held up his head since.” 

“He shall now, Ailie. I will take him as well as 3^our- 
self into the house service, and eveiy one shall know how 
much I regard and trust you both.” 

The conversation was interrupted b3" the entrance of 
another woman, with a tray of breakfiist for Gladys. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 523 


And she immediately arose, and with the help of Ailie, 
dressed herself, and sat down to the meal. 

When she had finished breakfast, and put on her shawl 
and bonnet, Arthur came to take her down to the carriage. 

The fast horses had been put to it, and they were quite 
fresh ; the roads were also in a good condition ; so that 
they soon accomplished the distance that lay between 
Kader Idris and Standwell. 

They drove directly to the magistrate’s office. 

They were late — nearly an hour behind time. 

Arthur entered, with Gladys leaning upon his arm, and 
walked up to the magistrate’s bench, which he was sorry 
to see surrounded by a miscellaneous crowd of officers and 
prisoners. 

“ I have to apologize for keeping the case waiting ; but 
the distance is great, and the lady by my side not well,” 
said Arthur, addressing the presiding magistrate, and 
looking around for the Llewellyn party, who were no- 
where visible. 

“No apology is necessary, Mr. Powis. You have not 
kept the case waiting. The case will not come on to-day,” 
said Squire Browning. 

“ ' The case will not come on to-day ?’ ” repeated Arthur 
Powis, in astonishment. 

“ No ; the prisoners made their escape from the station- 
house last night.” 

“ ‘ Made their escape from the station-house last night!’ 
How was that? It could onl3^ have occurred through the 
most culpable negligence on the part of the officers who 
had them in charge!” said Arthur, indignantly. 

“ I have alwa3’s said that our constabulary arrangements 
were very inefficient,” replied the magistrate. 

“But how did they make their escape, sir?” demanded 
Arthur. 

“ It seems that they were the only occupants of the lock- 
up house last night. That the lady occiqDied alone a small 


524 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


inner apartment ; and the gentleman and servant the outer 
one ; the door being closed, but not locked, between them. 
In the outer room one constable guarded the prisoners. 
The outer door, was locked and barred, and the constable 
had the keys buttoned up safely in his breast pocket. But 
in the middle of the night the woman came forth from the 
inner cell and made a signal to the negro, who instantly 
threw himself upon the constable and choked him before 
the latter could resist or ciy out. And the woman came 
and suffocated him to complete insensibility with chloro- 
form. After which they robbed him of his ke3"s ; took the 
handcuffs off Stukely’s wrists, and fastened them upon the 
constable’s ; stuffed a pocket-handkerchief into his mouth ; 
and then quietly unlocked the door and walked out ; locked 
it again on the outside, leaving the constable there a pris- 
oner ; and then went off. This morning the only prisoner 
found in the lock-up house was the constable, who was 
gagged and handcuffed.” 

“ But it was unpardonable carelessness in the authorities 
to leave three prisoners in the station-house, guarded by 
but one man I” angrily exclaimed Arthur. 

“ It would seem so ; but I suppose the guard was deemed 
sufficient, as he was within easy call of other help, which 
would have been summoned but for the suddenness of the 
attack and the use of chloroform. However, it must be ac- 
knowledged that our country arrangements for the care of 
prisoners are not just exactly what they ought to be,” ad- 
mitted Mr. Browning. 

“ The constables are in pursuit of the parties, I hope,” 
said Arthur. 

“ They are doing what they can. There is as yet no clue 
to the directions the fugitives have taken.” 

“ There never was any thing so utterly lazy, stupid and 
useless as our whole squad of count}’’ law officers !” broke 
forth Arthur Powis, indignantly. “Well, I must give 
them something to quicken their wits. I will offer a thou- 


THE BKIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 525 


sand dollars reward for the apprehension of those fugitives. 
Will you be so good as to furnish me with paper and ink, 
Mr. Browning,” said Arthur, taking out his pocket-pen, 
and going up to an unoccupied window-sill. 

But a gentle hand was laid upon his arm, and a gentle 
voice murmured in his ear : 

“ Pause, dear Arthur. Do nothing just now. Let us go 
home. 

“ What, Gladys ! And meanwhile they will get clear 
olf !” exclaimed Arthur, pausing, pen in hand. 

“ Never mind, dear ; let them. Take me home, now, 
please.” 

“ But, Gladys, time is precious ; every minute is worth 
a year when we are in pursuit of fugitives from justice. I 
will soon get through, love, and then I will take you 
home.” 

“ Take me home, now, Arthur. I am very tired,” per- 
sisted Gladys. 

“Well, well, little tyrant, I will obey your commands,” 
said Arthur, shutting up his pen and returning it to his 
pocket. “ You do look very tired, poor darling,” he added, 
as he wrapped her shawl more carefully about her and led 
her back to the carriage. 

“ Oh ! I’m so glad !” exclaimed Gladys, with a sigh of 
^ relief, as she sank back among her cushions. 

“ Glad I glad, dear I glad of their escape I” exclaimed 
Arthur, in surprise. 

“ Oh, yes, indeed I so very glad I” 

“ Gladys, you astound me, love I” 

“ Oh, dear Arthur, let them go I” she broke forth, eagerly. 

“ Don’t pursue them ! don’t prosecute them I leave them to 
Divine Providence !” 

“ Gladys, you amaze me. After your unspeakable i 
wrongs and sufferings at the hands of that guilty and ruth- 
less woman, how can you say one word in her behalf?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Arthur, unless it is because I am so 


526 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


happy myself that I cannot bear to inflict pain on any one. 
A few days ago I felt as you do now. I told that woman 
I would never forgive her ; that I hoped the Lord would 
never forgive her ; for that I could not be happy even in 
the highest heaven unless I knew that she was burning in 
the deepest gulf of hell. Yes, Arthur, I said that, and I 
thought it. But, then, I was perfectly wild with anguish 
and despair at that time ” 

“Yes, from her criminal treatment of you; and yet now 
you wish her to go free 1’^ 

“ Yes, I do, Arthur ; I am not wild with despair now ; I 
am happy, and my feelings are all changed. Oh-h-h !” she 
murmured, with a prolonged sigh of delight, as she dropped 
her head upon his breast and looked up smilingly to his 
face — “ I am so happy, so blessed and grateful to have you 
back again safe with me, that I cannot bear to make any- 
body else miserable. Let the guilty woman and the foolish 
boy and that wretched negro go, Arthur 

“ How can I let them go unpunished earnestly inquired 
Arthur. 

“ They will not go unpunished, dearest I How can they ? 
You know the law of retribution better than I do, and 
should know that they cannot escape punishment. They 
have sinned ; wherefore they must suffer. But we need have 
nothing to do with it I Let us enjoy our pleasant earth, 
Arthur ! Why should we look back into hell ? — think how 
happy we are, and what large means we have of making 
others happy I Let us reward our friends, dear Arthur. 
It is much pleasanter work than that of punishing our ene- 
mies. Ah I I long to get at that work I” 

“ My dear little angel, for you are a little angel, Gladys, 
I will do whatever you ask me, even to the relinquishing 
of this prosecution, though it goes sorely against my will.” 

She thanked him with caresses. 

“ Besides,” she whispered, “would you have the name of 
Llewellyn, my family name, resound through the country 
in the very unpleasant association or a criminal trial ?” 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 527 

I confess, Gladys, that consideration presented itself to 
my mind from the very first, but it was conquered by my 
desire to punish that demon for her treatment of 3^011. 
Even now, it is the strongest argument you could use. No ; 
I would not like such a stigma to attach, however remoteljq 
to the old name.” 

‘‘ Then we will leave the guilty to the justice of God.” 

“ Since you desire it, my dear, we will do so,” said Ar- 
thur, sealing his promise with a kiss. 


CHAPTER LII. 

MAGNANIMITY. 

Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, 

Yet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury 
Do I take part : the rarer action is 
In virtue than in vengeance. — Sliakspeare. 

They drove rapidly back toward home. As the carriage 
rolled along the avenue leading up to the house a pleasant 
sight greeted them. 

All the negroes on the estate, with their wives and chil- 
dren, dressed in their holiday attire, were ranged up and 
down each side of the way to pay their respects to their 
new master and young mistress. 

Arthur Powis had always been a great favorite among 
them, and Gladys of course had been their idol. 

Arthur removed his hat, and bare-headed drove through 
the lines, bowing and smiling in reply to their cordial greet- 
ings and hearty good wishes. 

As to Gladys, the tears filled her eyes, as she kissed her 
hand again and again to the faithful, affectionate creatures. 

When they reached the house, alighted from the car- 
riage and entered the hall, they found the house servants 


528 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

drawn up on each side of the entrance to greet them with 
similar demonstrations of respect and attachment. 

Several were there who for their fidelity to Gladys had 
been long banished from the house, but who now returned, 
in joy, to welcome her. Bess}^, Gladys’ first little maid, 
was there ; and Ailie and Ailie’s father, old Richard ; and 
Lemuel foremost among them all. 

Arthur shook hands with each as he gently drew his 
'weeping and smiling Gladys through the crowd and up the 
stairs to her own quiet room. 

Ailie followed to assist her mistress at the toilet. 

“Ailie,” said Gladys, “ I heard something about a great 
feast having been prepared in the large dining-room for 
our people yesterday. What has become of it ?” 

“ Dear ma’am, it is there yet ; no one has touched it.” 

“Call all the field negroes and their wives and children 
in, then, and let them have it. Give them as much as they 
can possibly consume and carry away with them,” said 
Gladys. 

“ But, my darling, consider the disorder and the noise 
that will be made by that impulsive, untrained crowd, if 
they are let into the house. They will make 3 ^ou ill!” ex- 
postulated Arthur. 

“ Oh, no, they wont, dear 1 I shall not mind it. I am 
so happ 3 ^ — oh, so heavenly happy, dear Arthur — that I want 
to do something to please others who are not so happy as 
I am I Besides, it is the proper thing to do, sir,” said 
Gladys, with a little authoritative nod of her head ; “ quite 
the proper thing to do. And besides that, if they don’t eat 
up all those boiled hams, and legs of mutton, and rounds 
of beef — and roasted pigs, and turke 3 's, and geese — and 
pies, and puddings, and dumplings — who is to eat them ? 
Go and do as I tell you, Ailie.” And Gladys stopped her 
young husband’s further objections with a kiss. 

And Ailie went to do her errand. And when she got 
down stairs, and gave the order to her father, as the most 
proper person to execute it, she added ; 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


529 


* I tell you what, cladd}^, I think our Miss Gladys is 
gwine to w-ear the — the — the— you know ! I mean the 
lower part of a gentleman’s dress !” 

You mean she’s a-gwine to be masser and missus bofe ! 
He-he-he !” laughed the old man, with a little low childish 
giggle; “he-he-he, honey! She’s one ob de Llewell^ms, 
she is, and dey alias rules de roost — dey does !” 

But both father and daughter were mistaken. Gladys’ 
little playful affectation of authority and self-will was but 
the sparkling up of her effervescent spirits, so long — so 
long — kept down. 

That evening Arthur and Gladys dined quietly together 
in the cozy little crimson parlor. 

Occasionally the sound of revelry from the negroes in 
the dining-room reached their ears ; but it was not disor- 
derly enough to disturb their quiet. 

Later on the same evening, when their humble friends 
had gone, and the house was restored to order, the young 
husband and wife sat together on the coziest sofa, in the 
warmest corner of the hearth. With their hands clasped 
together, they had a mutual explanation. 

Each told the other his or her history of the past year 
of trial. And Gladys wept over the misfortunes of Ar- 
thur. And Arthur raged over the wrongs of Gladys. And 
then they comforted each other, and found in their present 
happiness compensation for all their past misery. 

And then they left the past and talked of their future. And 
all their plans had reference rather to the welfare of others 
than of themselves. They talked of the faithful discarded 
servants they would restore to service and promote to 
higher positions and better wages. And of the generous 
friends they would repay. 

“All those are gladsome duties, dear Arthur ; but we 
have one sad one to perform,” said Gladys, seriously. 

“And what is that, love ?” inquired Arthur, tenderly. 

“ It is to visit the grave of our poor little baby. No I 
33 


530 


THE BKIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


I’m not going to cry, dear Arthur I I am too happy with 
you here to do that. Only it does seem such a pity that 

her poor little life ” And Gladys suddenly hurst into 

a passion of tears, and was caught sobbing to the bosom of 
Arthur, who soothed her with the tenderest word? of love. 

Yet her tears flow^ed rather from pity for the “ poor little 
life” that she supposed had perished in its opening, than 
from attachment to the babe she had seen but for an hour. 
When she had sobbed herself into calmness she raised her 
head, smiled in his face, and said : 

“ There I I will not cry any more, dear Arthur ! It is 
very ungrateful to do so w'hen I am so happy with you ! 
very impious, too, when I know she is a little angel in 
heaven ! No, I will not cry any more. But we will go and 
visit her little grave. Not to disturb it. I do not think it 
is right to disturb a grave. But to see it ; and to have it 
inclosed ; and flowers planted over it.” 

“ Yes, my darling, as soon as this frost is over, and your 
strength is recruited, we will go,” replied Arthur. 

And thus closed the first day of their reunited lives. 

In a few days the health of the young couple visibly im- 
proved. Y'outh, good constitutions, and, above all, happi- 
ness, were found to be great restoratives. 

They were not selfish in their joy. They made all their 
humble friends and dependants happier in their own acces- 
sion to wealth and power. 

Ailie was elevated to the position of housekeeper. Little 
Bessy was restored to her place as lady’s-maid. Old Bich- 
ard was made head dining-room servant, and Lemuel waiter 
under him. 

Then Gladys thought of her poor friends at Ceres Cottage. 

“Are they very poor, Gladys, dear, do you know ?” in- 
quired Arthur. 

“ I fear they are. I believe they have nothing in the 
world but that house and garden. And I think they live 
by the sale of fruit and vegetables and butter and milk 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 631 

during tlie summer. And in winter 1 think they eke out 
their little income by knitting woollen stockings for sale. 
Oh, by the way, they have a little sum of money in the 
bank, a very little sum, which they will not touch for fear 
of coming to want.” 

“We must find some way to increase their income,” said 
Arthur, thoughtfully. 

“We must. And in the meantime, as the Christmas 
holidays are at hand, we must make them up a Christmas- 
box and send them. That will please them better than 
any thing else. Ah, Arthur, how fortunate ! I know what 
I will do!” exclaimed Gladys, eagerly. 

“ What, dear ?” 

“ Why, first — ^you know how old-fashioned they are ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“And how antiquated their dress ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, you see, they wont dress in any modern style. • 
You couldn’t get them to do it. And oh, their clothes are 
so worn, poor things I and so darned and patched and 
stayed ! and all so neatly you w^ould never guess it ; for 
they have a good deal of personal vanity, those dear old 
souls ; and if their dress is antiquated, they like to 'have it 
neat. And oh ! wouldn’t they like to have it rich, too, if 
they could?” 

“ Well, my dear childish Gladys, I suppose your plan is- 
to renovate the old ladies’ wardrobe from the best shops in 
Stand well,” said Arthur, smiling at her eagerness. 

“ ‘ From the best shops in Stand well,’ indeed 1” said 
Gladys, with a pretty toss of her head. “What could I 
get there but flimsy silks and flaunting muslin-de-laines ? 
No, indeed ! but from the cedar chests and sandal- wood 
boxes of Kadir Idris. From the wardrobes of the ancient 
ladies of the house of Llewellyn! Oh, Arthur!” she ex- 
claimed with glee, “ such dresses ! such rich and heavy 
silks and satins, and poplins and brocades ! all stout and 


532 THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN. 


stiff enough to stand alone I and all made in the antiquated 
style these old ladies love I and all of no manner of use 
except to send to them, to lift them up to the very seventh 
heaven of delight I I will pack them all up and send them 
by the wagon, so that they will reach the old ladies by 
Christmas-eve.’’ 

And eager as a child for a new play, Gladys called 
Bessie and Ailie to attend her, and hurried up stairs to 
make a raid upon the stores of rich clothing that had laid 
for half a century or more in the bureaus and wardrobes 
of Kader Idris. 

She emptied one of the largest cedar chests of its con- 
tents so as to re-pack it for the old ladies. 

And then she opened the long closed depositories, where 
the antique finely, carefully folded up with sweet gums and 
dried herbs, was preserved free from moth and mice, and 
was found as good as new. 

And such gowns and petticoats and pelisses and mantles 
of the richest satin and velvet and poplin and brocade, and 
such caps and handkerchiefs and ruffs and tuckers of the 
finest lace, and such shawls and scarfs and capes and peler- 
ines of the softest merino and cashmere, surel}^ were seldom 
seen before ! All these, and also a great quantity of the 
best underclothing, Glad3^s packed into the cedar chest. 

She was eager, impulsive, and almost extravagant in her 
benevolent desire to enrich her old friends. 

When she had closed and fastened the chest, and tacked 
a card bearing the name and address of the old ladies for 
whom it was intended, Gladys did not stop there. She 
hurried down into the library, where she found Arthur. 

“ What are you doing, dear ?” she inquired. 

“ Writing to the Navy Department,” he answered. 

“ Oh ! you are not going back into the navy, I hope, Ar- 
thur. Oh ! I had quite forgotten all about it until you 
spoke. You are not going back?” 

‘‘No, dearest. I will never leave 3^011 again, Gladys. I 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 533 

can find quite employment enough in looking after this long 
neglected estate. Did you wish to consult me, dear 

“ Yes ! about the old ladies !” 

Arthur smiled at her vehemence, as he inquired : 

“ What about them, dear 

“ Well, then, as there is no other way of sending the box 
of clothing. We will have to send it by our own wagon ; 
and while we are sending the wagon so long a way, we 
might as well send it full !” 

“Full of what, love 

“ Provisions, to be sure ; provisions from our own place; 
a pig, and a sheep, and some turkeys, and geese, and 
ducks ; and some hams, and tongue, and hung beef ; and, 
in short, every thing we can think of.” 

Arthur looked at her quizzically. 

“ Oh ! I know it sounds excessive, Arthur,” she said, 
deprecatingly ; “ but it really is not so. Only think — we 
have so much, and they so little P' she added, coaxingly. 

“ Dearest, dearest Gladys, do as you please with your 
own, m^ love ! I do not think your generosity excessive at 
all. I would not have you spare your hand in any thing 
whatever ; least of all in liberality to these poor old women, 
who were so kind to you in your distress,” said Arthur, 
earnestly. 

“Well, then, finish your letter, and I will go and see to 
the packing of those other things,” said Gladys, with a 
smile, as she danced off to do her pleasure with her 
“own.” 

That same day the wagon was packed with every thing 
that Gladys could think of for the comfort and delight of 
her old friends. 

That evening Arthur and Gladys wrote a joint letter to 
the old ladies, and intrusted its delivery to Lemuel, who 
was appointed to drive the wagon. 

And early the next morning a pair of stout draught 
horses were put to the well laden wagon; and Lemuel, 


534 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


great-coated and shawled, and mounted upon the driver’s 
seat, and having received his last instructions from his 
master and mistress, touched his hat, gathered up his 
lines, and drove off amid the cheers of his fellow servants. 

The next day Arthur was very busy in the library. 
Gladys found him so when she came in with her needle- 
work, to sit with him. She sat down very quietly near the 
table where he was writing, and, without speaking a word, 
began to sew. 

But Arthur, as soon as he saw her, closed the account- 
book that lay open before him, and wheeled his chair 
around toward her. 

‘‘ Have I interrupted you, Arthur ?” she inquired, look- 
ing up, deprecatingly. 

“No, my darling — how could you ? I was only looking 
over the accounts of your estate during the time it was 
managed by Mrs. Jay Llewellyn,” he answered. 

“Mrs. Jay! Oh! Arthur, I have been thinking about 
her. Now that she has run away I don’t know what in the 
world she will do. She had not a dollar of her own, you 

know. I am afraid she will starve ” began Gladys ; 

but she was shortly interrupted by Arthur : 

“ Afraid she will starve ! Gladys, are you not very sorry 
for Satan ? Don’t your heart bleed for Lucifer ? Wouldn’t 
you like to ameliorate the sufferings of the Devil?” 

Gladys lifted up to him her large, gentle, dark e^'es, full 
of wonder, and then seeing his meaning, her mood sudden- 
ly changed, and, with half saucy, half serious defiance, she 
answered : 

“Yes, I am sorry for that sad, despairing spirit ; and I 
believe the Lord is too. So, there now! Put that into 
your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Arthur.” 

“Well, you need suffer no anxiety upon Mrs. Jay Llew- 
ellyn’s account. She has — to us a common phrase — ‘feath- 
ered her nest ’ well ! She has ‘ made hay while the sun 
shone.’ In a word, Gladys, I have been looking over the 


THE BRIDE OP LLEWELLYH. 


535 


books, and I find that she has robbed you of several thou- 
sand dollars ! What do you say to that 

“ She was welcome to it, Arthur. We shall not miss it. 
I am glad she has some money.’’ 

“ But, Gladys, darling, this is weakness.” 

“ Oh, no, it isn’t I It is happiness. Oh I Arthur, dear, 
it is because my heart is so full of love and joy that it has 
not one bit of room for resentment,” exclaimed the young 
wife, fervently. 

He looked at her in admiring wonder. 

Was this womanly weakness, or was it angelic goodness ? 
Arthur could not decide just then. But in either case 
would he have wished her one whit less loving and less 
forgiving ? Ah, no ! As he gazed on her, he thanked Hea- 
ven earnestly for having bestowed upon him such a crown- 
ing blessing as this sweet young creature’s love. 

A very happy Christmas they spent together at Kader 
Idris. And their enjoyment was increased by the con- 
sciousness that they had ministered so largely to other 
people’s happiness. 


CHAPTER LIII. 

PRESENTS. 

Lawns as white as driven snow, 

Siitin black as e’er was crow. 

Gloves as sweet as damask roses, 

Vails for faces and for noses. 

Bugle bracelets, necklace amber, 

Perfumes for a lady’s chamber. 

Pins and poking sticks of steel — 

All they lack from head to heel. — Shdkspeare. 


On Christmas-eve the three sisters arose early in the 
morning to make their humble preparations for Christmas. 
. And after their hasty and frugal breakfast they went to 


536 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

work in earnest. Miss Polly helped — or, rather, hindered 
— Harriet in the kitchen. And Miss Milly and Miss Jenny 
brightened up the cottage by giving it a thorough sweeping 
and cleaning. And then all three gathered cedar, spruce, 
and holl}^ from the garden, and brought it in and adorned 
their sitting room ; putting a bunch of evergreen and 
scarlet berries over every picture on the walls, and into the 
two old fashioned vases on the mantle-shelf. 

The sun that had been overclouded all the morning, now 
suddenly shone out, and smiled into the windows as if in 
benediction on the poor old sisters^ work. 

“We shall have a fine day and a bright Christmas after 
all,’’ said Miss Polly. 

“ Yes ! and the room do look right down cheerful, don’t 
it now ?” inquired Miss Milly. 

“ Ay, that it ralely do,” admitted Miss Jenny. 

“ If we only had a turkey for to-morrow’s dinner. Mill}''. 
This is the first Christmas as I ever remember not being 
able to buy a turkey. But times is so sca’ce ! It do seem 
to me as they are getting sca’cer and sca’cer. For one 
thing, so many people is a-raising fruit for the market now 
as is so much better’n ourn. For ourn — I mean our trees 
— is gettin’ old like ourselves, and don’t bear as full and as 
good as they used to. And for another thing, them there 
manifactors will be the ruin of our knitting ; for the}’- can 
make socks for twenty-five cents a pair. And here we have 
to pay twenty cents for yarn eno.ugh to knit one pair of 
socks, and it takes us two daj^s to knit them ; and then, 
unless we sell ’em as low as the manifactored ones, we 
can’t sell ’em at all,” sighed Miss Polly. 

“ Well, you know. Miss Pollj^ as for me, I don’t think it 
pays to knit them at all,” said Miss Milly. 

“ But, sisters, we must be a-doing of something, and we 
might as well be doing of that as an}^ thing else,” observed 
Miss Jenny. 

“ I think,” suggested Miss Polly, whose mouth watered 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 537 


for roast turkey — “ I ralely do think for this once we might 
draw five dollars out’n the Savings’ Bank and make our- 
selves comfortable this Christmas !” 

“ Five dollars ! What ! break the whole hundred dollars 
as we’ve got laid up in the bank against a rainy day, and 
take out five, all to make ourselves comfortable a Christ- 
mas. It would be a mortal sin !” exclaimed Miss Milly. 

“And ‘ wilful waste makes woeful want,’ you know, sis- 
ters,” said Miss Jenny. 

“ But I do want a rost turkey for Christmas so bad ! 
And we all want new caps and new gowns and new shoes 
desperate,” whimpered Miss Polly. 

“ Well, but five dollars aint a-gwine to buy all them 
things, and so we might as well stop thinking about them,” 
said Miss Milly. 

“ No, and I’m sure there’s a-many worse off than we are ; 
so we ought to be contented,” said the youngest sister. 

“ I am contented. If I am not of a contented mind, I’d 
like to know who is ! Only things do always go so wrong 
end foremost. They always does. Here we aint got no 
rost turkey for Christmas ” 

“ Some poor folk aint got so much as roast mutton,” 
suggested Milly. 

“Nor even bread,” added Jenny. 

“ Hold your tongue, sisters, Y^hen your elder is a-speak- 
ing. I wouldn’t mind so much about the turkey, though I 
do want it so bad. Still, I wouldnH mind about it if I 
could only hear from that poor dear young creetur. I do 
wonder Colonel Pollard hasn’t writ, as he said he would I” 

“ Oh, I dessay he has writ. You know the letter-carrier 
don’t come out this way. And we aint none of us been to 
the post-office.” 

“ No, to be sure. Sisters, I’ll go myself directly after 
dinner ; and then, if I should fetch a letter home, what a 
satisfaction.” 

“Ah, wouldn’t it though ! it would be as good as a tur- 
key.” 


538 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

Or even as a five-dollar note.” 

“It would be a deal better’n either.” 

“ Hush your gabble, sisters, will you. I hear cart-wheels. 
Some of them there impident hucksters is a-trying to take 
a short cut through our field on their way to market again, 
I suppose. I’ll order ’em oflT if they do,” exclaimed Miss 
Polly, rising in wrath against the supposed trespassers. 

“ Lor’, Polly, it aint no huckster’s cart. It’s a great big 
heavy wagon from up country some wheres. And the 
nigger as is driving of it has got about five-and-twenty 
capes to his overcoat, as far as I can see from here,” said 
Miss Milly, who happened to be looking out of the window. 

“ Yes, and it aint a-going through the field ; it is a-making 
right for the house,” said Miss Jenny, who had come up 
behind her, and was looking over her shoulder. 

But by this time Miss Polly had gone to the front door 
to see to the intruder. Miss Milly and Miss Jenny soon 
left their window and joined their sister at the door. 

The heavy wagon came lumbering onward. 

“ It must be some mistake,” said Miss Polly. 

The heavy wagon came lumbering up and stopped. 

The big driver got slowly down from his seat, came up 
to the old ladies, took off his hat, and respectfully inquired ; 

“ Is this Sarious Cottage?” 

“Yes ; this is Serious Cottage,” answered Miss Polly. 

“ And, if you please, are you the Miss Craneses ?” 

“ Yes, we are the Miss Craneses.” 

“ Then, ma’am, this letter is for you, ladies,” said the 
man, drawing from his breast-pocket a letter which he 
handed to the sisters. 

“ It’s from him !” 

“ It’s from her I” 

“ It’s from them 1” 

Simultaneously cried the three sisters, as they stretched 
forth their hands to seize the letter, and nearly tore it in 
pieces between them. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 539 


“ Let me have it, I’m the oldest !” cried Miss Polly, with 
her eyes snapping. 

“ Read it, then,” said Miss Milly, as she and Miss Jenny 
relinquished their hold. 

Miss Polly with trembling fingers opened the letter, and 
w^as about to begin reading aloud when Miss Jenny sud- - 
denly interposed : 

‘‘ Let us go into the parlor to read it. And let this man 
go into the kitchen to w^arm himself.” 

“ I thank you, ladies ; but I will stand here, if you please, 
until I have received my orders, which you will please to 
give me when you have done read the letter.” 

“ Come, then, sisters !” said Miss Polly, hurrying into 
the parlor, followed by the two others. 

She dropped down into one chair, and they drew two 
others and sat as close as they could get to her — while, 
with hands and voice trembling with agitation, she held the 
letter up and read it aloud : 

Kader Idris, December 20th. 

Our dearest old friends : — We wrote you a joint letter 
a few days ago, in which we told you all that happened from 
our sudden, joyful meeting to our secure and happy estab- 
lishment in this our beautiful home ” 

“There!” interrupted Miss Milly; “I said as they’d 
writ to us. And so you see they have.” 

“ Oh, go on — go on with the letter, Polly 1” breathlessly 
entreated Miss Jenny. 

Miss Polly resumed the reading: 

“ Therefore, it would be needless to repeat the narrative. 
We write these few lines only to wish you a meriy Christ- 
mas and a happy New-Year, and many of them! ” 

“ The dear loves ! To think of us these Christmas 
times !” said Miss Milly. 

“When they have got so much else to think of, too,’^ 
added Miss Jenny. 

“ I wish you would let me finish the letter ; there isn’t 


540 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

much of it,’’ snapped Miss Polly, who once more resumed 
the reading : 

“ We write you these few lines 011137^ to wish you a merry 
Christmas and a happy New-Year, and many of them ; and, 
also, to beg your acceptance of the presents we send as 
testimonials of the love, esteem, and gratitude of your 
affectionate 3"oung friends, Arthur and Gladys.” 

“ Presents ! Oh, the darlings I I do love to get presents. 
But I don’t believe I ever had a half a dozen in the whole 
course of my life !” exclaimed Miss Polly. 

“ Oh, how good they are to us ! I wonder where the pres- 
ents are, and what they are !” said Miss Milly. 

“I’ll bet you any thing as how they are nice needle-books 
and thread-cases as she has made with her own dear hands,” 
said Miss Jenny. 

“And I reckon the man has got them in his pocket — let 
us go and see !” advised Miss Polly, tucking the letter 
away in her bosom, and starting for the door, followed by 
her two sisters. 

“ Where are the things your mistress has sent to us, my 
good man?” she asked. 

“ They are in the wagon, ma’am. Shall I take them out ?” 
asked Lemuel. 

“ Yes.” 

“ In the wagon I Lor, did you ever ! What can it be?” 
mused Miss Milly. 

“ Maybe it’s a turkey,” said Miss Jenny. 

It was a turkey ; or rather a pair of them ; for Lemuel, 
who had put his head and half his body in at the back of 
the wagon, presently emerged with a huge turkey in each 
hand. 

“ Oh, my good gracious alive, did you ever !” cried Miss 
Polly, raising both her hands. 

“Are they both for us?” doubtfully inquired Miss Jenny. 

“ Bofe, ma’am 1 ” replied the driver, who laid down the 
turke3's on the bench at the side of the porch and flew off 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 541 


again to the wagon, from which he again emerged, bringing 
a young roasting pig in each hand. 

'^Did you ever, in all j^our life !” cried Miss Polly. 

“Are these for us, also?” inquired Miss Milly. 

“ Every thing as is in that wagon is for you ladies, every 
singly thing,” replied the man, laying down the pigs be- 
hind the turkeys, and running off again to the wagon. 

“ Harriet! Harriet I” cried Miss Jenny, running into the 
house — “ come here directly and help to take these things in.” 

Harriet came running to answer the call, and stood won- 
dering at the scene before her. 

“ Lor, Miss Polly,” she said, “is you a-gwine to set up a 
market-shop ?” 

“No, you fool! Mrs. Colonel Pollard, which has come 
into her own, has sent us a Christmas-gift,” answered Miss 
Milly. 

“ What on airth is he a-bringing of now ?” inquired Miss 
Milly. 

It was a sheep already quartered ; and he was bringing 
two quarters over each shoulder. 

“ Oh, dear me ! It ralely do overjoy me and frighten me 
at the same time to see so much wittles. We aint deserv- 
ing of it. And it is too much for us. And how shall we 
ever eat it all ?” said Miss Jenny, with dilated eyes. 

“ Don’t be afraid, ma’am. It will keep a long time this 
freezing weather ; and get better every day !” said Lemuel, 
laying down the mutton and returning to the wagon, from 
which he once more emerged, bringing four hams, two in 
each hand. 

“ They wont spoil at any rate,” he said, laying them down 
and flying off again. 

Meanwhile, Harriet was carrying the things to the kitchen 
and storeroom as fast as she could. 

Lemuel was longer than usual at the wagon. He seemed 
to be removing a great weight. Presently a large cask 
about half the size of a barrel made its appearance. He 
lifted it up and lugged it forward. 


542 


THE BEIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ What on airth is that, my good man inquired Miss 
Polly. 

“ It is salt beef! prime, too, ma’am,” he said, setting the 
cask up before them, and going back to the wagon ; from 
which he presently returned, lugging a similar cask. 

“Salt pork, ma’am!” he explained. 

“Now I shall never be astonished at any thing again as 
long as ever I live !” said Miss Polly. 

“ I never expected to have such a piece of good fortin’ 
befall us this side of the grave !” said Miss Milly. 

“ Why, we’ve got enough provisions to last us the whole 
year!” added Miss Jenny. 

Meanwhile, Lemuel brought from the wagon two large 
dark masses, one in each hand. 

“ Hung beef!” he said, dropping them. 

Then in successive trips back and forth, he brought a 
barrel of flour ; a barrel of corn-meal ; a bag of hominy ; a 
bag of coflee ; a box of tea ; and a large box of sugar. 

The sisters said no more ! their astonishment and rap- 
ture had gone past expression, and they simply stood 
with wide open eyes and mouths, letting the tide of wealth 
flow in. 

“ There !” said the negro, as he placed at their feet the 
last article — a hind quarter of venison — “ that is all the 
eatables, ma’am !” 

“ I should think it might be. Seems to me, as it has 
been raining of wittels !” said Miss Polly. 

“And now, ma’am, if you please, I will help your woman 
to store those heavy articles aw a}".” 

“ Thank’y, kindly, my man ! for I don’t think as our Har- 
riet could lift them casks and barrels !” 

“No, I think not,” said Lemuel, laughing, as he shoul- 
dered a heavy cask, and followed Harriet, who was .carry- 
ing a bag of coffee to the storeroom. 

“Harriet! Harriet! be prudent; he's a man! don’t let 
him come too nigh you !” whispered Miss Polly, hurrying 
after her maid to insinuate this caution into her ear. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


543 


I aint afeard of ’um gruffly, replied Harriet. 

It took a good liolir to store away all the provisions, and 
then Harriet invited her mistress to go to the storeroom 
and contemplate their wealth. 

“ Oh, deary me, I’m almost afraid it is a dream 1 I have 
often and often when I was hungry, dreamt just sich 
unlikely dreams aS this,” said Miss Polly. 

“Well, for 7ny part. I am afraid, as it is a sin to have 
so much wittels in the house,” said Miss Milly. 

“ But oh, sisters ! now we can do something for the 
poor!” suggested Miss Jenny. 

“ Oh, yes ! there’s that poor widow Pike with her five 
children! We’ll send her a leg o’mutton, and some pota- 
toes and turnips for their Christmas dinner.” 

“ And poor old Daddy Browm, who lives all alone by 
himself! We’ll send him as nice a piece of corn-beef, and 
some potatoes and carrots.” 

“ Yes ! and don’t forget Miss Molly Bobins, poor desolate 
thing ! I declare, we’ll send her half of one of the roasting 
pigs, and plenty of sage and onions.” 

“Yes, and there’s a lot of other poor folks we can 
send to.” , 

“ To be sure ! And we sha’n’t loose any thing by it.” 

' “ It will keep the fresh things from spoiling on our 
hands.” 

“Yes, and besides, it will bring a blessing ; so that we 
shall not be afraid of enjo 3 dng what is left behind,” said 
Miss Polly as she locked the storeroom door, and the 
sisters returned to their sitting-room. 

Lemuel was waiting for them in the hall. 

“ Come in, my good man ! come in ; we want to talk to 
you!” said Miss Polly. 

Lemuel entered and stood hat in hand. 

“We are very thankful to you also my good man, for 
bringing us the things your master and mistress were so 
^ kind as to send. How long do you stay in Washington ?” 


5i4 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


“ Well, ma’am, I am got leave to spend Christmas Day 
with a friend of mine as is living here. But I departs for 
Kader Idris on the day after.” 

“ Yes ; — well mj^ good man, we haven’t got no stables ; 
but if you will find a livery-stable to put up your horses 
in and then come back here to get your dinner and supper, 
and bed, we should be glad to accommodate you. ” 

Thank you, ma’am, but if you please I promised to 
stay ’long of my friend.” 

“You did I Yery well, then. But at least you will go 
into the kitchen and take something to eat and drink ?” 

“ Thank you, ma’am ; I would rather not ! ’Taint 
three hours since I had my breakfast; coming through 
Alexander.” 

“Yery well, then. But at least you will come and see 
us before 3 "ou go back, for we have a letter of thanks to 
send to your master and mistress.” 

“ In course, ma’am, I shall come to pay my respects. 
But if you please, ma’am, there is something else to come 
out of the wagon.” 

“ Something. else ! Oh, Milly ! It is more wittels !” ex- 
claimed Miss Poll 3 % in a state of mipd between delight and 
consternation. 

“No, ma’am ; I don’t think as it’s any more wittels this 
time. I’ll see.” 

And Lemuel went out and soon re-entered the room, 
bending under the weight of a large cedar-wood chest, 
which he sat down upon the carpet before the wondering 
women. 

“ And here’s the ke}" of it, ma’am,” said the man, produc- 
ing a key from his pocket and handing it to Miss Polly. 

“ Lor, Miil}^ ! It is just sich a handsome chist as Mrs. 
Y^ashington used to keep her best things in when I was a 
young ’oman, and used to go and see her housekeeper,” 
said* Miss Pollv, as she took the ke}^ and knelt down to 
unlock the chest. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


545 


“ I do wonder wdiat is in it !” muttered Miss Milly. 

Wait and see!” said Miss Jenny. 

Miss Polly lifted the lid. 

All three heads eagerly bent over it. 

First there was a quantity of tissue paper, which Miss 
Polly removed. 

Then she lifted out one after the other, four stout brown 
satin dresses ; all as good as new, though very old fash- 
ioned. 

“ Oh ! my blessed eyes ! did they ever behold any thing 
so rich and beautifql ?” exclaimed Miss Polly, gazing with 
satisfaction and desire upon the dresses. 

“ Four on ’em I one for each of us, and one to spare,” 
cried Miss Milly, clasping her hands in ecstasy. 

“ There is one apiece for us ? We are each to have one, 
aint we ? Me and Milly can have one apiece, and you can 
have the other two, you know, Polly,” said Miss Jenny, 
coaxingly. 

“ Don’t you be afeard Jenny my dear, you shall have 
your share. Else how could I ever look Mrs. Colonel 
Pollard in the face again !” 

“What are these?” said Miss Milly, plunging her hands 
in and drawing forth a large parcel of something gray. 

They proved to be three stout gray brocade dresses, al- 
most perfectly fresh. 

“Oh, deary, deary me! it is certainly a dream!” ex- 
claimed Miss Polly, half in rapture and half in terror 
between the sight of her treasures, and the doubt lest they 
should fade away like the visions of the night. 

“Three! just exactly one apiece for us! And w^hat 
beauties !” said Miss Milly. 

“ There is to be one apiece for us, isn’t there, Polly ? 
Milly and me is to have one as well as you, aint we ?” 
coaxed Miss Jenny. 

“ Why of course you is, my dear. Do you think as I 

would rob you ?” 

34 


5 - 1:6 


THE BEIDE OF LLE’W ELLYN. 


“ No, I did not think that. Bnt I was afeard because 
you was the oldest you would take the most.’’ 

“ No, ray dear,” said Miss Polly, whom good fortune had 
put into a most gracious mood — “No, my dear Jenny, I’d 
never be so mean ; though, as you say, being the oldest, I 
might have a right to the biggest share. Oh, my goodness 
gracious me! what beautiful black figured silks,” she sud- 
denly broke ofi' and exclaimed, as she drew from the chest 
two rich dresses of the material she named. 

“ Two ! then there’s one for you and one for Milly,” said 
Miss Jenny. 

“ And oh I here is a beautiful black watered silk — That 
will do for me, and you and Milly can have the figured 
ones,” said Miss Polly. 

Then they drew forth, one after another, crimson poplins, 
and purple camlets, and brown merinos ; and admired and 
divided them. 

And then followed the shawls, mantles, and cloaks, which 
they also examined, wondered at and divided. 

Then came the fine lace, lawn and linen, caps, handker- 
chiefs, and under-clothing, which they also equally divided 
among themselves. 

Among other things came a large parcel marked for 

“ Oh ! call her up,” said Miss PoIIjl 

And Miss Milly ran to summon her. 

“ Look’e there, Harriet ! See what Mrs. Colonel Pollard 
has sent us!” exclaimed Miss Jenny, pointing to the 
mountain of rich clothing piled up on the floor. 

“Well I ralely do think — Well I never! — I do declare 
to my goodness !” said Harriet, gazing in intense admira- 
tion at the wealth. 

“And this here bundle is for you, Harriet,” said Miss 
Polly, handing over the parcel. 

“For me? — Hush, honey? — Tell you what! — aint I set 
up though ?” exclaimed the woman, with more delight than 
clearness. 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


547 


“Open it, Harriet, and let us see what is in it?” said 
Miss Milly. 

“Harriet, nothing loth, unfastened the bundle, which was 
found to contain a stout, green merino dress, a gay plaid 
shawl, a soft black silk hood, and half a dozen each of 
wdiite aprons, neck-handkerchiefs and head-handkerchiefs. 

“ Hush, honey ! — I never expected to be so rich in all my 
life,” cried Harriet in delight. 

There w^as something else still, folded up in a white 
paper at the bottom of the chest. On taking it out Miss 
Polly read the inscription : v 

“ To make a suit of clothes for Brother Peter T 

“ Only think of the darling remembering Brother Peter !” 
exclaimed Miss Milly, while Miss Jenny seized and opened 
the parcel, which was found to contain a beautiful piece of 
clerical black cloth. 

And under all, at the very botom of the chest was seen a 
large white envelope with some writing on it. 

Miss Polly lifted this and read the inscription ; 

“ To dear Miss Polly, Milly and Jenny, from their loving 
childP 

“ Our child ! the darling !” said Miss Polly. 

“ I wish to the goodness alive, as she was our child,” 
sighed Miss Milly. 

“ Well, and so she is. I always considered her as sich. 
Can’t we' have a child of our affections, I wonder,” said 
Miss Jenny. 

While they spoke, the elder sister opened the envelope, 
and uttered a loud cry. 

“ What is it, Polly ?” 

“ Oh dear, what is the matter ?” simultaneously ex- 
claimed the two younger ones. 

“ Oh ! hoo I hoo ! hoo !” whimpered Miss Polly, beginning 
to weep. 

“ Oh dear, deary me, what is it ?” 

“ Lors-a-mercy, can’t you speak ?” said both the other 
sisters together. 


548 THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

“ It’s — it’s too much ! — It’s overwalloping !” blabbered 
IMiss Poll}". 

“ What is ?” demanded the two sisters. 

This is. Look ! look !” exclaimed Miss Polly, drawing 
from the envelope three notes, each for one hundred dol- 
lars, and la3dng them out on the table. 

“ Oh, my goodness ! Why that is three times as much 
as we have been able to save all our lives,” said Miss 
Milly. 

“And there is one note for each of us, ain’t there? 
You’ll divide equal, wont you Polty ?” asked Miss Jenny, 
coaxingl}^. 

“ Why in course, Jenny, my dear.” 

“And I think as we had better put it in the Saving’s 
bank.” 

“And there wont be any fear of our ever coming to 
want again !” 

“And now", Harriet,” said Polly, “you must take all 
these things up stairs.” 

“ Yes,” put in Miss Milly, “ and we’ll go up and try some 
of the dresses on, and see if they will fit, and how they will 
look.” 

“Yes, indeed! And I hope they will fit; I should like 
for us to wear them brown satins to church to-morrow,” 
sighed Miss Jenny. 

Meanwhile Harriet loaded herself with as many dresses 
as she could carry, and took them up stairs. In three or 
four trips she contrived to remove all the finery. 

“You must get the man to help you up with the chist,” 
said Miss Polly. 

“ Dear me ! where is the man ?” inquired her sister Milly. 

“ Why, laws-a-massy, me ! He went away while we was a- 
looking at the clothes,” said Miss Jenny. 

“ Now did he, then ? How odd ! Never mind ! You can 
just draw the cedar chist into one of the corners, and 
leave it there until he comes again, and then he will help 
you up with it,” said Miss Polly. ' 


THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


549 


The three sisters went up stairs to try on their dresses. 
They tried them all on one after the other, but nearly all 
of them were too long, and required a little taking up in 
the skirt — all of them, in fact, except the brown satins, 
which proved to be perfect fits. 

“ We will wear these to church to-morrow; and wont the 
people be astonished!” exclaimed Miss Polly. 

“Yes, and we will wear the three black velvet mantles 
with them also, and that will astonish folks more,” added 
Miss Milly. 

“ Come, sisters ! if we are going to send any thing to the 
poor folks around us as a thank-offering to the Lord for 
his bounty to us, it is about time we did it,” suggested 
Miss Jenii}", And the three sisters went down stairs to 
fill baskets of provisions for those who were still poorer 
than themselves. 

A very merry Christmas had these old ladies. They 
went to church in the morning, wearing their new finery. 
And they brought their brother Peter home to dine with 
them. And they had a sumptuous Christmas dinner. And 
after dinner they satisfied the curiosity of Brother Peter, 
which had been greatly excited about their rich dresses. 
The}^ told him all about the arrival of the wagon, and of 
its contents. And then they showed him the piece of 
cloth that had been sent to him ; at the sight of W’hich his 
eyes bri'ghtened w’onderfully : for in truth the poor priest 
was not utterly indifferent to his personal appearance, and 
his present habiliments were considerably the worse for 
wear. 

Late that afternoon they had another surprise. 

Tlie wagon drove up once more. And from it alighted — 
not only Lemuel, but Ennis. Lemuel was grinning. Ennis 
was hanging her head. 

“ Why, Ennis ! Is this you ? What is the meaning of 
it all ?” inquired Miss Polly. 

“Well, if you please, ma’am, me and Ennis was engaged 


550 


THE BRIDE OF L L E AV E L L Y N. 


a long time ago. And Miss Gladys — I mean Mrs. Powis, 
she told me where Ennis was, and she give her consent ; 
so we was married this morning,” said Lemuel, answering 
for his bride. 

‘‘And — ^3'ou are going to take her with 3^ou to Kader 
Idris ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; which Mrs. Powis is going to take her 
into her service as seamstress, which, seeing as I am waiter 
in the house, is a great kindness to us.” 

“And — when are you going ?” 

“ Well, ma’am we concluded to start this evening, and 
get as far as Alexandria, and take a fresh start from there 
airly in the morning. So, if the letter is ready, ma’am, 
we’ll take it.” 

The letter was all ready. Brother Peter, at the desire 
of his sisters, had written it. And now it was delivered 
to Lemuel, who, with Ennis, departed amid the good wishes 
of the family. 

And the three sisters had the merriest Christmas and 
the happiest New-Year they had ever seen in all their lives. 
The bounty of Glad^^s not only cheered their own hearts, 
but inspired them to dispense to their still poorer neigh- 
bors much of aid, comfort and happiness. 


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Love’s Labor Won, ] 50 

Deserted Wife, 1 60 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy, 1 50 

The Mother-in-Law, 1 50 

The Missing Bride, 1 50 

Wife’s Victory, 1 60 

Retribution, 1 50 

India. Pearl of Pearl River,. 1 50 

Curse of Clifton, 1 50 

Discarded Daughter, 1 50 

n cloth, price $2.00 each. 

Broken Engagement, 25 


MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 


The Planter’s Northern Bride,.. 1 50 
Linda; or, the Young Pilot of 

the Belle Creole, 1 60 

Robert Graham. The Sequel 

to Linda,” 1 50 

Courtship and Marriage, 1 50 

Ernest Linwood, ; 1 50 

Marcus Warland, 1 50 


Rena; or, the Snow-bird, 1 50 

The Lost Daughter, 1 50 

Love after Marriage, 1 50 

Eoline; or. Magnolia Vale,.... 1 50 

The Banished Son, 1 50 

Helen and Arthur, 1 50 

Forsaken Daughter, 1 50 

Planter’s Daughter, 1 50 


The above are in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS, 


Flirtations in Fashionable Life, 1 50 

The Lost Beauty, 1 50 

The Rival Belles, 1 50 

The Lost Love, 1 50 

The Woman in Black, 1 50 

The Pride of Life, 1 50 

The Roman Traitor, 1 50 

Saratoga. A Story of 1787,... 1 50 

The Queen’s Favorite, 1 50 

Married at Last, 1 50 

False Pride 1 60 

Out of the Depths. The Story 

of a Woman’s Life, 1 50 

The Coquette ; or, Life and Let- 
ters of Eliza Wharton, 1 50 

A AVoman’s Thoughts about 

AVomen, 1 50 

Self-Love, 1 50 

Cora Belmont, 1 50 

The Devoted Bride, 1 50 


The Initials. A Story of Mod- 
ern Life. By Baroness Taut- 


phoeus, 1 50 

Love and Duty, 1 50 

Bohemians in London, 1 50 

The Man of the AV^orld, 1 50 

High Life in AVashington, 1 50 

The Jealous Husband, 1 60 

Self-Sacrifice, 1 60 

Belle of AV^ashington, 1 60 

Courtship and Matrimony, 1 50 

Family Pride, 1 50 

Family Secrets, 1 50 

Rose Douglas, 1 60 

The Lover’s Trials 1 50 

Beautiful AVidow, 1 50 

Brother’s Secret, 1 50 

The Matchmaker, 1 60 

Love and Money, 1 60 


The above are in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each. 

The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackera}'. In one duodecimo vol- 
ume, full gilt back. Price $1.00 in paper, or $1.50 in cloth. 


Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa, 


4 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


MADAME GEORGE SAND’S WORKS. 


Consuelo, ^5 

Countess of Rudolstadt, 75 

First and True Love, 75 

The Corsair, 50 

Jealousy, paper, 1 50 

Do. cloth, 2 00 


Fanchon, the Cricket, paper,... 1 00 
Do. do. cloth,... ] 50 

Indiana, a Love Story, paper,. 1 50 

Do. cloth, 2 00 

Consuelo and Rudolstadt, both 
in one volume, cloth, 2 00 


WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST WORKS. 


The Crossed Path, or Basil,.,.. 1 50 | The Dead Secret. 12mo 1 50 


The above are in paper cover, or each one in cloth, price $2.00 each. 


Hide and Seek, 

75 

Mad Monkton, and other Sto- 

After Dark, 

75 

lies, 

The Dead Secret. 8vo 

75 

The Stolen Mask, 

Above in cloth at $1.00 each. 


The Yellow Mask, 

The Queen’s Revenge, 

75 

Sister Rose, 


Sight’s a-Foot ; or. Travels Beyond Railways,. 


50 

25 

25 

25 

50 


MISS PARDOE’S WORKS, 

The Jealous Wife, 50 Rival Beauties, 75 

Confessions of a PrettyWoman, 75 Romance of the Harem, 75 

The Wife’s Trials, 75 

The five above books are also bound in one volume, cloth, for $4.00. 
The Adopted Heir. One volume, paper, $1.50; or cloth, S2.00. 

The Earl’s Secret. By Miss Pardoe, one voL, paper $1.50, or cloth, $2.00. 


G. P. R. JAMES’S BEST BOOKgi 


Lord Montague’s Page, 1 50 1 The Cavalier, --- 1 50 

The above are in paper cover, or each one in cloth, price $2.00 each. 

The Man in Black, 75 I Arrah Neil, 75 

Mary of Burgundy, 75 1 Eva St.Clair, • 50 


BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED 

Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cookery as it Should Be, 

Petersons’ New Cook Book, 

Miss Leslie’s New Cookery Book, 

Widdifield’s New Cook Book, ••• 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million, 

Miss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, ••• 

Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, ■ • 

Francatelli’s Celebrated Cook Book. The Modern Cook. With 
Sixty-two illustrations, 600 large octavo pages, 


2 00 
2 00 
2 00 
2 00 
2 00 
2 00 
2 00 

5 00 


CHARLES LEVER’S BEST WORKS, 


Charles O’Malley, 75 

Harry Lorrcquer, 75 

Jack Hinton, 75 

Tom Burke of Ours, 75 

Above are in paper, or in cloth, price $2.00 a volume. 
Horace Templeton, 75 1 Kate O’Donoghue, 


Knight of Gwynne,. 

Arthur O’Leary, 

Con Cregan, 

Davenport Dunn,.... 


75 

75 

75 

75 


75 


Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Prio^ by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


t. B. PEIERSOIT & BROXHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 5 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BOOKS. 


Elster’s Folly, 


St. Martin’s Eve, 


Mildred Arkell, 

1 50 

Shadow of Ashlydyat, 

1 60 

Oswald Cray, 


Verner’s Pride, 



Above are each iu paper cover, or 

The Mystery, 75 

Above are each in paper cover, or 

The Channings, 1 00 

Above are each in paper cover, or 


Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or, 

the Earl’s Heirs, 1 50 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir j or, 

Trevlyn Hold, 1 50 

The Castle’s Heir ; or. Lady 

Adelaide’s Oath, 1 50 

each one in cloth, for $2.00 each. 

I A Life’s Secret, 50 

each one in cloth, for $1.00 each. 

1 Aurora Floyd, 75 

each one in cloth, for $1.50 each. 


Red Court Farm, 75 

The Runaway Match, 50 

The Lost Will, and the Dia- 
mond Bracelet, 50 

The Haunted Tower, ,... 50 

A Light and a Dark Christmas, 25 


The Lost Bank Note, 75 

Better for Worse, 75 

Foggy Night at OlFord, 25 

The Lawyer’s Secret, 25 

William Allair, 25 


G. W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS. 


Rose Foster, 1 50 

Mysteries of Court of London,.. 1 00 

Caroline of Brunswick, 1 00 

Venetia Trelawney, 1 00 

Lord Saxondale, 1 00 

Count Christoval, 1 00 

Rosa Lambert, 1 00 

The above are in paper cover, or i 

The Opera Dancer, 75 

The Ruined Gamester, 50 

Child of Waterloo,... 75 

Ciprina; or. Secrets of a Pic- 
ture Gallery, 50 

Robert Bruce, 75 

Discarded Queen, 75 

The Gipsey Chief, 75 

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,... 75 

Wallace, Hero of Scotland, 1 00 

Isabella Vincent, 75 

Vivian Bertram, 75 

Countess of Lascelles, 75 


Mary Price, 1 00 

Eustace Quentin, ] 00 

Joseph Wilmot, 1 00 

Banker’s Daughter, 1 00 

Kenneth, 1 00 

The Rye-House Plot, 1 00 

The .Necromancer, 1 00 

1 cloth, price $2.00 each. 

The Soldier’s Wife, 75 

May Middleton, 75 

Duke of Marchraont, 75 

Massacre of Glencoe, 75 

Queen Joanna; Court Naples, 75 

Loves of the Harem, 75 

Ellen Percy, 75 

Agnes Evelyn, 75 

Pickwick Abroad, 75 

Parricide, 75 

Life in Paris, 50 

Countess and the Pago, 50 

Edgar Montrose, 50 


WAR NOVELS. BY HENRY MORFORD. 

The Coward, 1 50 I Days of Shoddy, 1 60 

Shoulder-Straps, 1 50 I 

Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $2.00 each. 


GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Gambling Exposed, 1 50 I The Reformed Gambler, 1 50 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 50 I Secret Band of Brothers, 1 50 

Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $2.00 each. 


1^ Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 


Count of Monte Cristo, 1 

The Iron Mask, 1 

Louise La Valliere, 1 

Adventures of a Marquis, 1 

Diana of Meridor, 1 

The Three Guardsmen, 

Twenty Years After, 

Bragelonne, 

The Conscript, 1 


The above are in paper cover, 

Edmond Dantes, 

The Corsican Brothers, 

George, 

Felina de Chambure, 

The Horrors of Paris, 

The Fallen Angel, 


50 

00 

00 

00 

00 

75 

75 

75 

50 


Memoirs of a. Physician, 

Queen's Necklace, 

Six Years Later, 

Countess of Charney, 

Andree de Taverney, 

The Chevalier, 

Forty-five Guardsmen, 

The Iron Hand, 

Camille, “The Camelia Lady,” 


or in cloth, price $2.00 each. 


75 

50 

50 

75 

75 

75 


Sketches in France, 

Isabel of Bavaria, 

Mohicans of Paris, 

Man %yith Five Wives,.. 

Twin Lieutenants, 

Annette, Lady of Pearls, 


1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
1 fiO 
1 00 
1 00 
75 
75 
1 50 


75 

75 

50 

75 

75 

50 


DOESTICKS’ WORKS. 

Doesticks’ Letters, 1 50 i The Elephant Club, 1 50 

Plu-K-i-Bus-Tah, 1 50 | Witches of New York, 1 50 

Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $2.00 each. 
Nothing to Say, cloth, 75 


GUSTAVE AIMARD’S WORKS. 


The Prairie Flower, 

The Indian Scout, 

The Trail Hunter, 

The Indian Chief, 

The Red Track, 

Pirates of the Prairies,. 


75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 


Trapper’s Daughter,, 
The Tiger Slayer,. ... 

The Gold Seekers, 

The Freebooters 

The White Scalper... 
The Border Riiles.... 


75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 


GOOD BOOKS FOR EVERYBODY. 


Currer Lyle, the Actress, 1 60 

AVild Southern Scenes, 1 50 

Secession, Coercion, and Civil 

AVar, 1 50 

AVhat I Saw, and Where I 
Went, 1 50 


The Refugee, 1 50 

Life of Don Quixotte, 1 00 

AVilfredMontressor, 1 50 

H.arris’s Adventures in Africa,. 1 50 
Adventuresof Peregrine Pickle 1 00 
Life and Beauties Fanny Fern, I 50 
Lola Montez’ Life and Letters, 1 50 

Lady Maud; or, the AAfonder of Kingswood Chase, 1 

Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $2.00 each. 

AYhitefriars ; or, The Days of Charles the Second. Illustrated, 1 

The Rich men of Philadelphia, Income Tax List of Residents, 1 

Political Lyrics. New Hampshire and Nebrasha in 1854. Illust’d. 


Vidocq, the French Policeman, 1 


50 

50 

00 

00 

12 


SAMUEL C. WARREN’S BEST BOOKS. 

Ten Thousand a Year,...p.aper, 1 50 I Diary of a Medical Student,... 75 
Do. do. cloth,. 2 00 I 


1^* Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 7 


HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 

Beautifully illustrated hy Felix 0. C. Barley. 


Major Jones’ Courtship, 75 

Major Jones’ Travels, 75 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and 

Travels, 75 

Major Jones’ Chronicles of 

Pineville, 75 

Polly Peablossom’s Wedding,.. 75 

Mysteries of the Backwoods,... 75 

Widow Rugby’s Husband, 75 

Big Bear of Arkansas 75 

Western Scenes; or. Life on 

the Prairie, 75 

Streaks of Squatter Life, 75 

Pickings from the Picayune,... 75 

Stray Subjects, Arrested and 

Bound Over, 75 

Louisiana Swamp Doctor, 75 

Charcoal Sketches, 75 

Misfortunes of Peter Faber,.... 75 

Yankee among the Mermaids,.. 7 5 

New Orleans Sketch Book, 75 


Drama in Pokerville, 75 

The Quorndon Hounds, 75 

My Shooting Box, 75 

Warwick Woodlands, 75 

The Deer Stalkers, 75 

Peter Ploddy, 75 

Adventures of Captain Farrago, 7 5 

Major O’Regan’s Adventures,.. 75 

Sol. Smith’s Theatrical Appren- 
ticeship, 75 

Sol. Smith’s Theatrical Jour- 
ney-Work, 75 

The Quarter Race in Kentucky, 75 

Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag, 75 

Percival Mayberry’s Adven- 
tures and Travels, 75 

Sam Slick’s Yankee Yarns and 

Yankee Letters, 75 

Adventures of Fudge Fumble,. 75 

American Joe Miller, 50 

Following the Drum, 50 


Henrietta Temple,, 

Vivian Grey, 

Venetia, 


B’ISRAELI’S WORKS. 


60 

75 

50 


Young Duke, 

Miriam Alroy, 

Contarina Fleming,, 


50 

50 

50 


ERANK FAIRLEGH’S WORKS. 

Frank Fairlegh, 75 I Harry Racket Scapegrace, 75 

Lewis Arundel, 75 1 Tom Racquet, 75 

Fine editions of above are also issued in cloth, at $2.00 each. 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship, 1 50 | Lorrimer Littlegood, 50 

The above are in paper cover, or each one in cloth, price $2.00 each. 


C. J. PETERSON’S WORKS. 

Old Stone Mansion, 1 50 1 Kate Aylesford, 1 50 

The above are in paper cover, or each one in cloth, price $2.00 each. 

Cruising in the Last War, 75 I Grace Dudley; or, Arnold at 

Valley Farm, 25 1 Saratoga, 50 


J. A. MAITLAND’S WORKS. 

Diary of an Old Doctor, 1 50 

Sartaroe, 1 50 

The Three Cousins 1 50 


The Watchman, 1 50 

The Wanderer, 1 50 

The Lawyer’s Story, 1 50 


The above are in paper cover, or each one in cloth, price $2.00 each. 


W. H. MAXWELL’S WORKS. 

Wild Sports of the West, 75 I Brian O’Lynn, 75 

Stories of Waterloo, 75 I 


Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PHBIICATIONS. 


lANGUAGES WITHOUT A MASTER. 

French without a Master, 25 German without a Master, 25 

Spanish without a Master, 25 Italian without a Master, 25 

Latin without a Master, 25 

The above five works on the French, German, Spanish, Latin and 
Italian Languages, without a Master, whereby any one or all of these 
Languages can be learned by any one without a Teacher, with the aid of 
this great book, by A. H. Monteith, Esq., is also published in finer style, 
complete in one large volume, bound, price, $2.00. 


HARRY COCKTON’S WORKS. 


Sylvester Sound 75 

Valentine Vox, in paper, T. 75 

Do. finer edition, cloth,. 2 00 


The Sisters, 

The Steward, 

Percy Effingham,, 


75 

75 

75 


HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 

Each one full of Illustrations, hy Felix 0. C. Barley, and hound in Cloth. 


High Life in New York, by 

Jonathan Slick, cloth, 2 00 

Judge Halliburton’s Yankee 
Stories, Illustrated, cloth,.... 2 00 
The Swamp Doctor’s Adven- 
tures in the South-West. 14 

illustrations, cloth, 2 00 

Major Thorpe’s Scenes in Ark- 
ansaw. 16 illustrations,cloth, 2 00 
The Big Bear’s Adventures and 
Travels. 18 engravings,cloth, 2 00 

Modern Chivalry, cloth, 2 00 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship 
and Marriage, cloth, 2 00 


Major Jones’ Courtship and 


Travels. Illustrated, cloth,. 2 00 
Simon Suggs’ Adventures and 
Travels. Illustrated, cloth,. 2 00 
Major Jones’ Scenes in Georg- 
ia, cloth, 2 00 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam 

Slick in Texas, cloth, 2 00 

Sam Slick, the Clockmaker, 

cloth, 2 00 

Humors of Falconbridge, 2 00 

Neal’s Charcoal Sketches, 21 

illustrations, 2 50 

Captain Priest’s Adventures,.. 2 00 


DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 1st 

Series, $1.00 ; cloth, 1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, $1.00 ; cloth, 1 50 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 

Series, $1.00; cloth, 1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, $1.00; cloth, 1 50 


MISS ELLEN PICKERING’S WORKS. 


Who Shall be Heir, 

The Squire, 

Ellen Wareham,...., 

Nan Darrel, 

Orphan Niece, 


38 

38 

38 

38 

50 


Poor Cousin, 

Kate Walsingham,..., 

The Grumbler, 

Marrying for Money,. 


50 

50 

75 

75 


THE SHAKSPEARE NOVELS. 

By Robert Folkstone Williams. 

The Secret Passion, 1 00 I Shakspeare and his Friends,... 1 00 

The Youth of Shakspeare, 1 00 I 

The three above Books are also published complete in one large octavo 
volume, bound. Price $4.00. 


Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


OET XJr» YOTJR CLUBS UOR, 180 ^! 


THE BEST AND CHEAPEST IN THE WORLD 1 


PETEBSON’S MAGAZINE. 

This popular Monthly contains more for the money than any Magazine 
in the world. In 1867, it will have nearly 1000 pages, 14 steel plates, 12 double- 
sized mammoth colored steel fashion plates, and 900 wood engravings — and all 
this for only TWO DOLLARS A YEAR, or a dollar less than magazines of its class. 
Every lady ought to take “Peterson.” In the general advance of pi'ices, it is 
THE ONLY Magazine that has not raised its Price. It is, therefore, emphatically 

TMi RtAQAglltidB TMl TIlRtlS. 


In addition to the usual number of shorter stories, there will he given 
in 1867, Four Original Copy-righted Novelets, viz : 


RUBY GRAY'S REVENGE, by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, 

A LONG JOURNEY, by the Author of “Margaret Howth.” 
CARRY’S COMING OUT, by Frank Lee Benedict. 

A BOLD STROKE FOR A HUSBAND, by Ella Rodman. 
In its Illustrations also, “ Peterson ” is unrivalled. The Publisher challenges 
a comparison between its 


SUPERB MEZZOTINTS other STEEL ENGRAVINGS 

And those in other Magazines, and one at least is given in each number. 

DOUBLE-SIZE OOLOKED PASHIOU PLATES 

Each number will contain a double-size Fashion plate, engraved on steel and 
handsomely colored. These plates contain from four to six figures each, and 
excel anything of the kind. In addition, wood-cuts of the newest bonnets, hats, 
caps, head dresses, cloaks, jackets, ball dresses, valking dresses, house dresses, 
&c., &c., will appear in each number. Also, the greatest variety of children’s 
dresses. Also diagrams, by aid of which a cloak, dress, or child’s costume can 
be cut out, without the aid of a mantuarmaker, so that each diagram in this way 
alone, will save a year’s subscription. The Paris, London, Philadelphia and New 
York fashions described, in full, each month. 

COZOBEn PATTERNS IN EMBROIDERY, CROCMET, &c. 

The Work-Table Department of this Magazine Is Wholly Unrivaled. 
Every number contains a dozen or more patterns in every variety of Fancy- 
work; Crochet, Embroidery, Knitting, Bead-work, Shell-work, Hair-work, &c., 
&c., Ac. Superb Colored Patterns for Slippers, Purses, Chair Seats, &c., 
given — each of which at a retail store would cost Fifty cents. 

“OTJier isriEJW cooic-booik;,” 

The Original Household Receipts of “Peterson” are quite famous. For 1867 
our “Cook-Book” will be continued: Every One of these Receipts has been 
Tested. This alone will be worth the price of “ Peterson.” Other Receipts for 
the Toilette, Sick-room, &c., &c., will be given. 

New and Fashionable Music in every number. Also, Hints on Horticul- 
ture, Equestrianism, and all matters interesting to ladies. 


1 Copy, for one year, 

3 Copies, “ 

4 


TERMS— ALWAYS IN ADVANCE. 

52.00 6 Copies, (and 1 to getter up Club.) $ 8.00 

4.50 8 “ (and 1 to getter up Club.) 12.00 

6.00 14 “ (and 1 to getter up Club.) 20.00 

A CHOICE OP PREMIUMS. Where a person is entitled to an 
extra copy for getting up a club, there will he sent, if preferred, instead of the 
extra copy, a superb premium mezzotint for framing, (size 27 inches by 20,) 
“Washington parting from his Generals,” or a Lady’s Illustrated Album, 
handsomely bound and gilt, or either of the famous “Runyan Mezzotints,” the 
same size as the “Washington.” Always state whether an extra copy or one of 
these other premiums is preferred: and notice that for Clubs of three or four, no 
premiums are given. In remitting, get a post-office order, or a draft on Phila- 
delphia or New York : if neither of these can be had, send green-hacks or bank 
notes. Address, post-paid, 

CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.] 
ASf" Specimens sent to those wishing to get up clubs. 


STANDARD BOOKS BY EVERY AUTHOR. 


♦ n ^ ■« » 

T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS, 

PUBLISHERS AND BOOKSELLERS, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA., 

Take pleasure in calling the attention of the public to their 
Choice and Extensive Stock of Books, comprising a col- 
lection of the most popular and choice, in all styles 
of binding, by all the favorite and standard 
American and English Authors. 


To Collectors of Libraries, or those desiring to form them. 

Many who have the taste, and wish to form a Library, are deterred by fear of the cost. 
To all such we would say, that a large number of books may be furnished for even One 
Hundred Dollars — which, by a yearly increase of a small amount, will before long place 
the purchaser in possession of a Library in almost every branch of knowledge, and 
afford satisfaction not only to the collector, but to all those who are so fortunate as to 
possess his acquaintance. 

For the convenience of Book buyers, and those seeking suitable Works for Presenta- 
tion, great care is taken in having a large and varied collection, and all the current 
works of the day. Show counters and shelves, with an excellent selection of Standard, 
Illustrated, and Illuminated works, varying in price to suit all buyers, are available to 
those visiting our establishment, where purchases may be made with facility, and the 
time of the visitor greatly economized. Here may be seen not only books of the simplest 
kind for children, but also exquisite works of art, of the most sumptuous character, 
suitable alike to adorn the drawing-room table and the study of the connoisseur. 

Our arrangements for supplying Standard American Books, suitable for Public Libra- 
ries and Private Families, are complete, and our stock second to none in the country. 

Catalogues are sent, on application, and great attention is paid to communications 
from the country, and the goods ordered carefully packed and forwarded with expedition 
on receipt of orders accompanied with the cash. 


To Booksellers and Librarians. 

T. B. Peterson & Brothei’S issue New Books every month, comprising the most enter- 
taining and absorbing works published, suitable for the Parlor, Library, Sitting Room, 
Railroad or Steamboat reading, by the best and most popular writers in the world. 

Any person wanting books will find it to their advantage to send their orders to the 
“PUBLISHING HOUSE” OF T. B. PETERSON & BROS., 806 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, 
who have the largest stock in the country, and will supply them at very low prices for 
cash. We have just issued a new and complete Catalogue and Wholesale Price Lists, 
which we send gratuitously to any Bookseller or Librarians on application. * 

Orders solicited from Librarians, Booksellers, Canvassers, News Agents, and all others 
in want of good and fast selling books, and they will please send on their orders. 

Enclose ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred dollars, or more, to us in a letter, and write 
what kind of books you wish, and on its receipt the books will be sent to you at once, 
per first express, or any way you direct, with circulars, show bills, etc., gratis. 

Agents and Canvassers are requested to send for our Canvassers’ Confidential Circular 
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low rates. 

Address all cash orders, retail or wholesale, to meet with prompt attention, to 


T. 


B. 

7 


PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 


56 


£ 


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Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of retail price, to any address in the country. 

All the NEW books are for sale at PETERSONS’ Book Store, as soon as published. 
Publishers of “ PETERSONS’’ DETECTOR and BANK NOTE LIST,’’ a Business 
Journal and valuable Advertising medium. Price Sl.dO a year, monthly: or $3.0e % 



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